Three's a Crowd
by shadowfood
Summary: Misery loves company, right? HouseCuddy, HouseWilson friendship.
1. A Rude Awakening

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

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CHAPTER ONE - A Rude Awakening

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She sat for a long moment, just staring.

At it.

She'd been worried for a few days, going on a week, but not too worried. Now, it seemed she hadn't been worried enough. Not nearly enough. In fact there really wasn't a level of concern too high for this sort of situation, she realised.

For a few minutes she continued to sit, and stare, and quietly panic.

Then, she stood up and went to the kitchen. There, she rummaged around until she found a freezer bag - the kind she sometimes used to store pathetic, single servings of soup and stew if she made a big pot over the weekend. It would do. She sealed it up and calmly went to get ready for work.

Just as calmly, she drove to the hospital, manoeuvring easily through early morning traffic, and pulled into her reserved parking spot.

As she walked towards the entrance she noted, very calmly, that House's bike wasn't in its usual place. He wasn't in yet. This wasn't out of the ordinary, of course; it was only just past seven and it was rare enough that he came in to work on time, let alone two hours early.

She continued on inside, nodding hello to a few people on the way, exchanging a few pleasantries. When she got to her office she sat down and pulled out some paperwork. All perfectly normal. Normal and calm.

At nine thirty she looked down and realised she was tapping her pen so vigorously that there was now a dent in her otherwise pristine desk blotter.

She put the pen down. Then she stood up, left her office, and travelled the all too familiar route up to the diagnostics department.

She strode into his office, where he was enjoying a leisurely morning cup of coffee with his feet propped up on the desk. He looked up at her over the rim of his mug as she reached into her pocket, drew out the freezer bag and tossed it down next to his ridiculously flashy sneakers.

'We have a problem,' she said.


	2. A Matter of Timing

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

A/N: For anyone just now beginning this story, first of all, welcome:-) Also, it's important to note that this story was started, and half of it was written, before we ever heard about Cuddy wanting a baby on the show. That's why so many of the plot points are so far outside of canon. This story shoots off around the middle of season two, in a universe where Cuddy never had any definite plans for being a mother, and where the season two finale never happens - among other things. Enjoy!

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CHAPTER TWO - A Matter of Timing

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House was sitting at his desk when Wilson found him, his feet set firmly on the floor. He didn't appear to be doing anything, didn't look up as Wilson took a seat opposite him, just stared down at his desk. At something on his desk, Wilson realised, as he followed House's gaze.

He frowned and reached for it.

'What's this?'

He didn't get an answer - he didn't need one. His eyes widened as he held the bag up and turned it around, taking in its contents: a white plastic stick. With a little panel at one end displaying two blue lines.

He blinked a few times. 'I guess a better question is, _whose_ is this?'

At that House smirked. 'Mine.'

'You're kidding.'

'I never kid about impending parenthood.'

Bemused and still half-convinced it was a joke, Wilson put the pregnancy test back down and leaned back in his chair. 'Okay... So who's the lucky girl?'

'You mean, whose pee is on that stick?'

'Yes, that's what I mean,' he said, rolling his eyes. But House's answer wasn't immediately forthcoming and so he prompted, 'Anyone I know?'

Still no answer. House reached out and grabbed the ball from its place of honour and passed it back and forth between his hands as he continued to stare at the plastic bag and its innocent-seeming contents.

'House?' Wilson ventured again warily. House was behaving oddly. He had the growing suspicion that maybe this wasn't a joke. It was a lot to wrap his head around - especially since he wasn't aware that House was even seeing anyone. 'Oh my god,' he said suddenly, 'You and Cameron didn't -'

'It's not Cameron. Like I'd throw myself in front of that train wreck. I'm not that desperate,' House replied, almost absently, as he turned the ball over and over in his hands.

'Well it's been months since Stacy left and I can't imagine she would have left it this long to tell you if...' he trailed off, eyebrows raised as House threw the ball vigorously at the wall, catching it as it rebounded towards him. 'Okay, not Stacy then. Well... there's really only one other woman you interact with on a regular basis. But it can't be -'

He stopped talking as House's eyes flickered up at him. He didn't have to say it, it was all right there in that look.

He gaped back at House. 'Holy shit. _Cuddy_? Are you _kidding_?' He let out a laugh of disbelief. 'I don't... I mean, when did that even happen?'

'Apparently it happened exactly when it shouldn't have,' House replied, evading the question in his usual manner. 'I've always had perfect timing. Or perfectly disastrous timing. Depending on how you look at it.'

'I can't believe it.'

'Which part - the part where we made a baby or the part where we hooked up at all?'

'Both? I mean, how long has this been going on? And since when don't you know how to use a condom?'

House rolled his eyes. 'I did use a condom.'

'Then how -'

'The first time. The second time, however, a few hours later, is a lot hazier and was apparently also a lot less safe.'

'I take it you were drunk, then.'

'Oh, how well you know me.'

'So let me get this straight. You got drunk, had unprotected sex with Cuddy, and now she's pregnant.'

He shrugged. 'Well she came in here and dumped _that_ in front of me. And then ran off looking like she was going to hurl. I used my superior intellect to deduce the rest.'

There was a pause, then, as they both considered the enormity of the situation. Finally, Wilson spoke up again.

'I can't believe you slept with Cuddy and didn't tell me about it.'


	3. The Morning After

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

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CHAPTER THREE - The Morning After

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'I can't believe you slept with Cuddy and didn't tell me about it.'

House rolled his eyes. 'Well as long as we're making it all about you...'

'But you tell me everything.'

'How do you know I tell you everything? There could be all sorts of stuff I never tell you about, and you'd never know because _I don't tell you about it_.'

'I can't follow your circular logic right now. I'm too busy trying to figure out how you managed to get Cuddy into bed. And there was something about a baby somewhere in there, too.'

'Strangely enough that's the part I'm stuck on.'

'Okay,' Wilson said, still trying to wrap his head around it all, 'Nothing would surprise me where you're concerned, but it's hard to see Cuddy being irresponsible like that.'

'That's the thing. She wasn't.'

xxxxx

_flashback_

His head and his stomach were duking it out to see who would be named Hangover King, and the only consolation was that however bad he was feeling, she somehow managed to look even worse.

He decided it couldn't hurt to tell her so.

'Wow. I hope 'fresh-faced and dewy-eyed' wasn't what you were going for with that look - if it was, you really need to have a word with your stylist.'

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling on her robe, and turned her head to glare at him. 'Do you really have to make things worse than they already are?'

'Just trying to inject a little humour into an awkward situation. It's helping, don't you think?'

'No, it just makes me want to kill you,' she said as she stood up, one hand pressed to her forehead. 'God,' she moaned as she moved towards the bathroom.

'Gonna go throw up?' he asked sweetly.

'No,' she said, irritated.

'Don't mind me, puke all you want. I'll just be over here making an inauspicious exit.'

She tightened the sash at her waist as she turned back, suddenly alert. 'You're going?'

He manoeuvred his legs over the side of the bed and concentrated on hooking his pants, boxers still inside, off the floor with his cane.

'Don't get all romantic on me now. A big embarrassing scene isn't on my agenda for the weekend,' he said distractedly.

Her hands flew to her hips and she spoke curtly. 'Well, House, exchanging body fluids with you wasn't on _my_ agenda for the weekend. But we did, and now -'

'Yeah,' he interrupted her, smiling dreamily. 'Nice memory. Fuzzy, a little disjointed, sure, but -'

'Shut up,' she snapped. Then she sighed and continued, 'I'm not on anything.'

He stood up, pulling up his shorts as he did so, and looked back over his shoulder at her. 'Lucky for you, you bagged yourself a real live doctor last night. I can write prescriptions and everything. I'll phone one in for you.'

She crossed her arms over her chest. 'Yeah. Thanks.'

'Our trusty hospital pharmacy work for you?'

From the look she gave him, apparently not.

xxxxx

'So buying emergency contraception is embarrassing for some people,' House told Wilson as he tossed the ball in the air and caught it. 'Who knew? The last I saw of her, she was planning to change her name and cross state lines to find a drug store she wouldn't run into any of her golfing buddies at.'

'Well even assuming she took it -'

'She took it. This is Cuddy we're talking about.'

'It's not a hundred percent effective.'

'So few things are. Funny how that whole abstinence thing isn't catching on.'

'You're taking this all very well.'

'Maybe it's not mine. How often do you think a hot piece like Cuddy gets some? I can't be the only candidate - that'd just be sad.'

'Maybe a little too well,' Wilson went on.

'Think I'm in denial?'

'I think you have to go talk to her.'

House bounced the ball again. And then again, setting up a steady rhythm.

'Or,' Wilson offered, 'You could sit here and play with your toys some more.'

'If ever a situation needed careful deliberation, it's this one,' House said slowly.

Anyone else might not have seen it at all. It barely showed, of course, this was House after all, but Wilson had never seen his friend so deeply, deeply freaked out. And despite the seriousness of the situation, he suddenly found himself swallowing some very inappropriate laughter.

'You know that you don't get to make this decision, don't you?' he said after carefully schooling his expression. 'She's going to do whatever she's going to do.' House made a face. 'And that's what's bothering you more than anything, isn't it? You can't stand that this is her decision, that it's out of your control.'

'Well what about my reproductive rights?' House demanded in his usual overdramatic manner, pelting the ball hard at the wall. 'It's my uterus too, you know!' He caught the ball as it bounced back at him and stopped suddenly, frowning down at it in his hand as he went on in a more serious tone. 'You're assuming I care what she does. You shouldn't assume things, Jimmy, don't you know that?'

'House.' Wilson spoke quietly, ignoring his friend's claim of indifference. 'You know you have to talk to her.'

He didn't reply. The ball started bouncing again.

xxxxx

Endnotes: Just for the record, I included the part with Cuddy and the emergency contraception because I still wanted to have Cuddy acting responsibly, and taking steps to prevent pregnancy - I really don't think she'd leave something like that to chance. Of course then I still get to come along and screw up her life by putting her in the small percentage for whom emergency contraception doesn't work. Also just for the record, someone I know got pregnant after EC failed just last year, so I know it actually can and does happen. But anyway, I'll stop rambling now.


	4. Never Bet Against the House

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

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CHAPTER FOUR - Never Bet Against the House

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Nausea.

She leaned against the bathroom sink, stomach roiling, one hand pressed to her diaphragm. Don't throw up, she told herself. Don't throw up, don't throw up, don't throw up.

Since these spells had started she'd chalked them up first to something she ate, then to a touch of gastro, and then, once the dreadful suspicion started growing, she'd told herself she was making herself sick worrying about nothing.

Only as it turned out, it wasn't nothing, she knew that - and now so did House.

The encounter with him hadn't gone exactly as planned. To put it mildly.

He'd only just had time to look from the test stick up at her with something like shock in his eyes before a wave of nausea hit and she found herself with eyes closed, fingers pressed to her lips, willing it to go away.

She didn't even get to enjoy what was probably the one and only time she would ever witness House rendered utterly speechless. Because then her stomach had heaved and bile was threatening to rise and she'd thrown a hasty 'I have to go' at him over her shoulder as she fled.

Which brought her here, hunched over in the ladies room, _willing_ her stomach to settle.

She didn't have time for this, she had work to do, a hospital to run. She rubbed her hand back and forth as she straightened up, deciding to risk returning to her office. She rinsed her hands under the cold water, wishing she could splash some on her face - but no, that would ruin her makeup. Bad enough running through the halls with a hand clapped over her mouth in a manner universally understood. She wasn't walking out of here with racoon eyes on top of everything.

_All you have to do_, she told herself, _is not throw up_. She could do that. And as for House, she thought as she pulled the door open and left the bathroom, well, she had fulfilled her obligation and informed him of the matter. Sort of. It was up to him now to make the next move.

xxxxx

'When you said we have a problem, you meant the permanent kind,' he said as he flung open the door and stalked in.

It was the kind of grand entrance he loved to make - especially when bursting into her office, it always seemed. And she'd been half-expecting it all day since the events of the morning. Now it was past seven at night and he'd had all day to think.

She knew part of him must have wanted to simply avoid her, slink on home and pretend none of this was happening. Part of her, too, wanted nothing more than to do just that. But the rest of him was itching for a fight, apparently, if the look on his face and the tone of his voice were anything to go by.

'You never would have told me if you weren't going to keep it,' he finished with an accusatory flourish, and threw himself down in the chair opposite her.

She sat back and regarded him levelly for a moment. 'Maybe I thought you should know regardless of my decision,' she said finally.

'Your decision,' he sneered. 'I'm going to be saddled with some kid because your biological clock is ticking? Or maybe the famous Cuddy guilt complex is kicking in. Tell me which it is, the suspense is killing me.'

'You're not being 'saddled' with anything. I certainly don't need your help financially - I make more money than you do,' she pointed out sharply. 'I have a stock portfolio, you have a bunch of expensive toys and a gambling habit.'

He ignored her words completely. 'Wait, don't answer, let me guess. It's the age thing, isn't it? This is your last chance to have it all - well not quite 'all'. Still the small matter of finding a good little husband to keep you warm at night.'

'All I'm _saying_,' she continued, making a valiant effort to ignore him in return, 'Is that you are under no obligation here.'

'Nice martyr complex - goes perfectly with all the guilt. I'm impressed, I'll admit it. Your issues got game.'

'I didn't ask for this!' she said, losing the tenuous grip she'd kept on her temper. 'But I'm the one who has to deal with it. You can just go back to your insulated little world, where everything works just the way you want it to.' She took a breath, forcing herself to calm down. 'I don't have to tell anyone you're the father. I'll... tell people I went to a sperm bank - what do I care?'

He smirked. 'Nice try. A sperm bank is a downright respectable option compared to what really happened - getting trashed, screwing a colleague - what would people say?'

She looked away.

That he was being even more of a bastard than she had expected was the least of her worries. She had anticipated his lashing out at her - House hated feeling out of control, backed into a corner. As a fellow control freak she could sympathise with him there.

And then there was the small matter of him being right, of course.

She let out a short, humourless laugh. 'You're right. I _don't_ want anyone to know... About any of this. But it's unavoidable, isn't it?'

'Unavoidable.' He didn't say anything else until she met his eyes and then when he continued it was with a statement, not a question. 'Because you're keeping it.'

_Yes._

The thought was there, but when she opened her mouth the sound wouldn't come.

The fact was, she didn't feel pregnant. All she really felt was sick and uncertain, anxious and overwhelmed. She looked away, hating the feel of his eyes watching her, taking in her every word and movement and gesture.

She didn't want this to be happening at all. That was the real truth of it. She didn't want to be pregnant.

Her head dropped forward and she rested her forehead in her palms, elbows planted on the desk. 'God, this is a nightmare.'

'I concur,' he intoned.

She tilted her head up and looked at him between her wrists. She took the slight upward twist of his mouth, the hint of humour, as a peace offering.

'It doesn't even seem real,' she confided, looking back down at the desk. It was easier this way, when she didn't have to look at him. 'You're the genius diagnostician. Any chance this is a hysterical pregnancy?'

'How many tests did you take?' he asked after a beat.

She sighed, and after a moment raised her head and propped up her chin in one hand. 'That one I gave you was lucky number four,' she said wryly. 'So what are the odds?' she prompted as a look of concentration came over his face.

'On all four being wrong? That would be...' He scrunched up his face. '_Really_ unlikely,' he finished.

She bit her lip, holding in a laugh, then sighed again and looked around for a moment. 'It's late. I'm going to go home.' He didn't respond or move, and she watched him surreptitiously as she began to straighten her desk, putting things away and shutting down her computer.

'I guess -' she began, and only at these words did he react, planting his cane on the floor and standing up.

'There'll be other conversations,' he finished for her.

She stared at him. 'There... doesn't have to be. You can bow out now, I wouldn't -'

'There'll be _other_ conversations,' he said again, moving towards the door. 'As in, stop talking.'

'Yeah, can't wait to do this again,' she muttered sarcastically.

He paused long enough to throw her an amused look over his shoulder, and then he was gone.


	5. The Sudden Stop

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

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CHAPTER FIVE - The Sudden Stop

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She took off her coat as she stepped off the street and into the bar, and slinging it over her arm she surveyed the room.

It had been a few days since she found out. Since everything changed. And since then, House had thrown himself into a new case. She'd found herself likewise trying to occupy her every waking moment with work - it was as good a way as any to distract herself from the constant disarray of her thoughts, not to mention the frequent bouts of nausea, and the occasional dash to the closest bathroom as a direct result of said nausea.

She finally spotted his familiar, slightly rumpled figure across the room, seated at the far end of the bar, and she watched him as she made her way over. He'd probably spotted her the moment she'd entered. He was most likely plotting an escape strategy right now.

Because for all that he'd _said_ they would be discussing the matter further, in practice they hadn't exchanged a single word since that night except to argue about his latest patient. He'd finished with the case now, though, and she felt as if she couldn't put it off any longer. Besides, he'd come to her last time - it was only fair she made the next move.

'Glad one of us at least gets to drown our sorrows,' she greeted him as she took the place next to him, hanging her coat and bag over the back of the barstool.

'Personally, I'm glad it's me,' he replied. The bartender appeared and she ordered orange juice with a sigh. 'How'd you know I was here?' he said next. She just looked at him and he closed his eyes in realisation. 'Wilson. Traitor. Can't tell that guy anything.'

She waited till her drink appeared in front of her before saying, 'You've been avoiding me.'

'I've been working.'

'Nice change - usually you avoid both me _and_ work.' She grinned at him. He just rolled his eyes and so she went on more seriously, 'Wilson - he hasn't said anything, but he knows, doesn't he.' It wasn't a question, and he just shrugged. Of course Wilson knew.

'Who've you told?' he muttered, staring straight ahead as he took a swallow of what looked like scotch.

'Just my sister,' she told him. 'I had to swear her to secrecy because otherwise she would have gone running to my mother. And there is no way I'm ready for _her_ to know.'

'Mama Cuddy not going to be happy for her little girl?'

'No, she'll be ecstatic. She'll be pleased and supportive - all the while making it clear through not-so-subtle hints that I'm really only doing this to be difficult, and to spite her, and that's all before she finds out that you're not Jewish, and we're not getting married.'

'We're not? And all this time I've been hoping you'd make an honest man out of me.'

That didn't require a response, so instead she asked, 'What about your parents? Told them yet?'

He just shrugged. Of course, she thought. He wasn't about to tell his family when he himself was still turning the decision over in his mind.

It was part of the reason she'd tracked him down here tonight. She needed to know one way or the other - whether he was in or out. She didn't know how to broach the topic besides hinting around it, however. It wasn't her usual style, she preferred to come right out and ask. But then she thought of their confrontation in her office. It hadn't gone particularly well, and she didn't want to start another argument with him.

She took a sip of her orange juice, put the glass back down and stirred the straw around idly. Beside her he seemed just as happy to focus on his own drink.

She looked at his face in profile - an attractive face, she'd always thought so. An attractive man all around, if all the women who seemed to throw themselves at him on a regular basis were anything to go by. She'd even been one of them that night - that one night that was going to have such considerable, not to mention long-lasting consequences.

Had it been worth it? She certainly remembered enjoying herself at the time. She remembered falling into bed with him in a disorganised tumble of limbs and clothing. She remembered laughing when he hooked his cane around the back of her knee as she fumbled in the bedside-table drawer, and falling back into his arms and plying his mouth with hasty, drunken kisses.

She remembered waking up later with her head spinning, sitting up and squinting in the sudden light from the bathroom. She remembered turning towards him, reaching for him as he climbed back into bed...

xxxxx

_flashback_

At first she didn't know if she was awake or asleep - maybe she was somewhere in between. The room spun and shifted or maybe it was the mattress dipping beneath his sudden weight as he clambered clumsily back between the sheets. Dizzy and disoriented, her eyes stung in the dim light and so she closed them.

Her breasts brushed his arm as she turned to him, or maybe he turned to her. Maybe it didn't matter. His hand slid around her back, pulling her closer and she moved, mouth blindly reaching for his.

He followed when she rolled onto her back, and she welcomed his body as it covered hers like a warm, heavy blanket. She called him House like she didn't know any other name for him, and he buried his face in her neck. She ran her fingers through his hair. Everything was hazy and warm, slow and sleepy, and all she knew was the slow simmer of her body, the feel of him as he moved over her.

She reached down between their bodies to touch herself and the pleasure rose inside her and all around her like a dream.

xxxxx

And that was it, she thought. That was the moment it happened. The next thing she knew she was waking up, sick as a dog, with House snoring next to her, and having to face the reality of what she'd done.

Now she was having a baby with him and she still wasn't sure how she felt about his role in all of it.

The silence was stretching out between them and she knew he wasn't going to be the one to break it.

'I have to start making plans,' she began carefully. 'There's a lot to think about, especially with my job and the hospital. So much is going to change and I need to start thinking about it sooner rather than later, starting with how I'm going to play this. The clock is ticking and eventually people are going to know whether I've told them or not, so what I really need right now is for you to give me an answer. Just... tell me. Are you in or out?'

She took a deep breath once she stopped talking. She didn't know what his response would be. When it came, though, he seemed to have disregarded every single word she'd said, and really, she should have expected that.

'You think too much.' He waved a hand at her dismissively. 'One of those girl things you can't help - you're multitasking your ass off, trying to work and be pregnant and solve all the problems in your life all at the same time. Me, I'm a guy. I only worry about one thing at a time. Like right now - see? My drink is empty. This,' he rattled the ice in his glass, 'Is going to occupy me for at least the next few minutes. Longer if the idiot bartender doesn't get his head out of his ass and _do his damn job_.' He raised his voice towards the end, earning a dark look from the young man currently filling orders down the other end of the bar.

'That doesn't help me a whole lot,' she pointed out.

After a moment's pause he said, 'Well there's still time, you know.'

'Time to change my mind, you mean?'

He returned her gaze, unfazed by her sharp response. And she sat there, unmoving, waiting to hear what he would say.


	6. Maternal Instinct

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

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CHAPTER SIX - Maternal Instinct

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'Well there's still time, you know.'

'Time to change my mind, you mean?'

He returned her gaze, unfazed by her sharp response. And she sat there, unmoving, waiting to hear what he would say.

'Is anything I say going to change your mind?'

'No,' she replied, firmly and emphatically, still glaring at him.

'Then let's just assume I'm not going to bother trying.'

Her indignation subsided a little, and he found himself more amused than anything at her reaction. The truth of the matter was, he could accept this being her choice. If he ever found himself in possession of a uterus - which god forbid, considering all the trouble they caused, case in point - he'd like to see someone try and tell him what to do with it.

'Anyway,' he went on, 'Back before all the jumping to conclusions, and before your hackles went up in an impressive show of maternal instinct - when I said there was time, I meant that you don't actually need to figure out every single detail today. Even an over-achiever like you, I can't imagine getting anything out of the attempt other than a headache. Not to mention the one you'll give _me_ if you sit here and try to involve me in the whole manic ordeal.'

She let out a breath slowly, the last of her bristles going down. 'Okay,' she said.

'Really? Not tempted to go for my jugular?'

'No more than usual,' she smirked.

And that was it, she just went back to sipping her juice.

'Well, good then. And it just gets better,' he said, as the bartender appeared before them. Finally. He gestured for another scotch. 'Make it a double,' he added, giving a happy sigh as it was placed before him.

'Thanks for not trying to talk me out of it,' she said a moment later. 'I know this isn't what you want.'

He shrugged. 'No need to pretend either of us would have chosen this.'

'All things considered, though, you're actually dealing with this better than I expected.'

'Dealing,' he snorted. 'This isn't _dealing_. This is so far from dealing my coping mechanism has detached itself, relocated to Siberia, and declared itself an independent state.'

He looked over to see her giving him an odd look. It wasn't his fault, he thought, if she couldn't follow his metaphors.

She sighed. 'You're not going to make this easy, are you?' She sounded resigned rather than upset. 'You're just going to treat this like a game and leave me to guess where you actually stand because just coming right out and telling me wouldn't be any fun.'

'Can you really see me being involved and... committed and whatever else it is good mommies and daddies do?'

'Honestly? No. But I don't see you being _un_involved, either - I think your curiosity will get the better of you. I don't think you'll be able to leave this alone.' She shrugged. 'And you can't have it both ways.'

'Gee, you don't think if I was going to say 'see ya' and go on my merry, unencumbered way I would have done it already, do you? No, you're right, that doesn't sound like something I'd do at all. My sense of duty simply wouldn't allow it.'

She let out a short laugh and shook her head ruefully. 'I have no idea what's going through your head. I'm having enough trouble figuring out what _I'm_ going to do. Don't expect me to be a mind-reader at the same time.'

'Well don't _you_ expect _me_ to be anything other than completely useless. Because what I, in my infinite wisdom, foresee is me thoroughly sucking at this. Not to mention there's a good chance I might flee in manly terror at any moment. I mean if there's one thing I'm really good at - that I've _really_ worked hard to develop throughout my entire adult life - it's an unwillingness to take responsibility for anything other than my own selfish needs. It's been working well for me so far, I don't see any reason to change now.'

And after all that, she sat there looking at him with a smile on her face. Like she was actually pleased with the fact that he was telling her not to depend on him - that he almost certainly wouldn't come through, that he wasn't even going to try.

He didn't know how what he just said could be translated as comforting on any level, but that was how she seemed to take it. Displaying, he thought with irritation, that special ability of women to only hear what they wanted to hear.

Suddenly another voice addressed them. 'Hey.' He and Cuddy turned as one to see Wilson standing behind them. 'I'm not interrupting anything, am I?' he asked.

'No,' House jumped in with an answer. 'Just sitting here, thinking about how much simpler my life would be right now if I was gay.'

They both just looked at him.

'Well that's my cue to go,' Cuddy said after a moment's pause. 'He's all yours,' she told Wilson, standing up to go.

He stopped her with a hand on her arm, however. 'Hey,' he said, 'Lisa, I don't know if you're ready for congratulations yet, but... Mazel tov.'

'Suck up,' House muttered, looking on as Wilson kissed Cuddy's cheek.

'Thank you,' she responded graciously, though her smile was self-conscious. 'I know I'm going to have to get used to people acknowledging it eventually.'

The two men watched her go, then Wilson took her place at the bar and turned to House.

'So how'd it go?'

'We'll be playing happy families in no time. I'm going to take the Corvette in tomorrow and trade it for a nice shiny minivan.'

'You were looking amiable enough from what I saw. Sure I didn't interrupt anything?'

'Well we were just about to declare our undying devotion to one another...'

'Now you're just avoiding the question. Is something going on there? Besides procreation, I mean?'

'That's it. No more rom-coms for you. Movie night is now restricted to films of the Alien and Rambo genre.'

'Since when is 'Rambo' a genre?'

'Until and unless,' House spoke over the top of him, 'You accept the fact that one night in the sack does not a great love affair make. Huh,' he added, tapping his chin, 'Maybe I should have invoked this rule two or three marriages ago.'

'You won't tell me what went on that night - how do I know it wasn't the start of something... _magical_?' Wilson's voice took on a breathy tone.

'So you want all the gory details?' He shrugged. 'And people call me the disturbed one.'


	7. Turn and Face the Strange

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

xxxxx

CHAPTER SEVEN - Turn and Face the Strange

xxxxx

_flashback_

It was the end of the week, and House was winding down in his office, television on, when Wilson poked his head through the door.

'Hey. Going to Cuddy's thing tonight? Free booze.'

'So she won some award. It's not like there are any other nominees - she already knows it. We already know it. They couldn't just mail it to her?'

'Well, this way, people get to make speeches, and say nice things about her and the hospital. And then there's applause, and an open bar and hors d'oeuvres.' Wilson shrugged. 'That's reason enough for most.'

House just waved him off. Yes, he'd been invited, but had never entertained for the slightest moment the notion of attending. He was disappointed Wilson even bothered asking. It showed a distinct lack of attention - Wilson should have known better.

When he told Wilson this, however, he just rolled his eyes and left.

xxxxx

'I remember that night,' Wilson frowned, 'I was there. You didn't go.'

'Yeah, thanks.' House raised his eyes to the ceiling. 'Duh. It obviously didn't happen at the award thing. It was afterwards. Cuddy showed up back at the hospital. That's when the fun started.'

xxxxx

_flashback_

Some hours later he was on his way out when he heard a commotion from the direction of Cuddy's office. It was accompanied by the sound of a familiar voice cursing. He and the night clerk on duty at reception exchanged a look. The woman shrugged at him and he hesitated a moment longer before going to investigate.

He just watched for a while as she juggled an open bottle of champagne, a hefty-looking plaque, and her keys - the latter of which she was fumbling with as she tried to unlock the door to her office. All while sporting an evening dress that didn't leave things to the imagination so much as send the imagination into overdrive.

'Did you know,' she said, when she finally looked up and noticed him standing there, 'That I've made an exceptional contribution to the image of women in medicine?'

'Keys, though,' he said. 'They're the real challenge.'

She went on, sounding like she was quoting from a brochure. 'I also, apparently, demonstrate outstanding commitment, originality and innovation in my field.'

'You're very good at what you do.'

'Thanks a lot,' she glared up at him, blowing an artfully-placed tendril of hair out of her face.

He blinked at her tone. 'I actually just paid you a compliment,' he pointed out.

'You might have, if you didn't think that 'what I do' is frivolous paper-pushing at best, at worst, directly impeding the treatment of patients with my fascist, money-grubbing ways.'

'And you're so good at it. They even gave you a shiny plaque.'

'Yeah, hold this will you?' she thrust it at him, and returned to her struggle with the lock.

'Can't I hold the bottle instead?'

'No, I'm keeping that.' She let out a relieved sigh as she finally managed to get the door open, and he trailed after her as she made her way inside.

'Dr Cuddy, drunk and disorderly in her own hospital,' he observed. 'What will people say?'

'Hey, it's my party,' she retorted. 'I'll drink if I want to.'

'I thought your party was at some ritzy hotel downtown.'

'I brought the party with me.'

'Yeah, I got that,' he rolled his eyes and dumped the heavy lump of wood and metal in the centre of her desk. 'Isn't it time good little girls were in bed?'

'I had to come back here first - I think I forgot something.'

'You think?'

She looked disgruntled for a moment. 'Well I can't remember anymore. I know there was something I had to do...' She threw up her hands. 'Oh, like I won't be in here over the weekend anyway. God forbid I make it through two days when there isn't some disaster that no one else in this place could _possibly_ handle except me. And don't you look at me - it's usually your fault.'

He smiled faintly, amused at Cuddy's ramblings. 'I'm not looking at anything. Except your neckline.'

She looked down at herself. 'Some dress, huh? Not at all a waste of six hundred dollars.'

'Six hundred dollars and you couldn't even fit some underwear on under there?'

'How do you know what I've got on under here?' she returned coyly.

'I'm a good guesser. Though I'd be happy to make a more thorough investigation,' he raised his eyebrows at her suggestively.

Apparently the flirting was sitting well with the champagne, because she just smiled and settled herself back against the edge of the desk. Then she gestured at him with the bottle. 'I'll share. _If_,' she added, pulling it back in towards her chest, 'You ask nicely.'

He reached over and grabbed it off her. 'I don't do nice,' he growled, making her laugh as he took a swig. He made a face as he swallowed. 'You can't get drunk off this stuff. No one can, except supermodels and wedding guests. And you, apparently.'

'I'm not drunk,' she protested, taking the champagne back and hugging it protectively. 'I'm just a little... festive.'

'Right.' He rolled his eyes. 'Anyway, I know you've got a secret stash around here somewhere.' He moved behind her desk and she twisted around to watch him as he started opening drawers.

'I'm not pathetic enough to hide alcohol in my office,' she told him. 'I'm not you.'

'Please. We're doctors. It's what we do.' He brandished the bottle of single malt he'd just located behind a stack of spare envelopes. 'Pathetic, did you say?'

'That was a gift.'

'Nice,' he said, eyebrows raised as he read the label. 'Share the wealth, Cuddy. We're not all well-connected, bigwig execs with people throwing high-priced liquor at us all the time.'

She was just staring at him suspiciously. 'You already knew that was there, didn't you? Do you have any concept of privacy at all? Is there anywhere you haven't snooped?' Her words lost some of their weight as she ended with a giggle.

And the very fact that he was in the presence of a tipsy, giggling Cuddy meant he wasn't going anywhere. There was potentially years worth of ammunition on offer here.

That and the bottle of eighteen year old scotch he'd just cracked the seal on.

xxxxx

'So you and Cuddy had a little after-hours soiree in her office.'

'You went that night. You saw the dress,' he said, as if it explained everything.

'And after you plied her with more alcohol, you... jumped her?' Wilson's voice fairly dripped with disapproval.

He just smiled smugly. 'What makes you think I jumped _her_?'

xxxxx

_flashback_

'You know what I like about you?'

He had, he realised, lost control of the situation back around the time she informed him she was a quarter Irish, and could drink him under the table any day. If, indeed, he'd ever had any control here at all.

As it was, he was merely playing along, watching as she prowled around her office, admiring the way she remained not only upright but surprisingly graceful considering she was three sheets to the wind in three inch heels. Not to mention matching her swallow for swallow of the scotch (the champagne bottle long empty) because part-Irish or not, he was after all three times her size and he was a man and he had his pride.

And he couldn't wait to hear what she liked about him.

'Do tell,' he prompted duly.

'I like that you're not intimidated by the fact that I get to tell you what to do all day.'

'You try to,' he scoffed.

'I mean, some men find women in positions of power over them threatening.'

He scoffed some more. 'You're too short to threaten anything taller than a toy poodle. Even in those shoes.'

'I think I do okay. And you,' she said, wandering over towards him and reaching for the scotch that sat on the desk, 'Are so good at getting into trouble, sometimes I have to wonder whether you don't enjoy getting my attention.'

'Yes,' he drawled, watching the line of her throat as her head tilted back and she raised the bottle to her lips. 'Your banshee impression every time I threaten the peace of your precious hospital - such a turn on.'

She set the bottle back down. 'Isn't it?'

Then he noticed her hand reaching towards him, and he held still, perplexed by this turn of events, as her fingers ghosted up his chest and hooked in the neck of his t-shirt. Next thing he knew, she was tugging him down and then she was kissing him, fast and hot, nothing tentative or timid about it. When she let go of him he straightened up and looked down at her with a silly grin on his face.

'You're coming on to me.'

'So? Everyone else seems to, why shouldn't I?'

He thought about it, but couldn't come up with a reason.

'What is it with you and women, House?' she asked then.

'It's my irresistible charm.'

She shook her head with a laugh. 'No, it's not.'

He swung his cane a little. 'Then it must be my natural grace.'

'Maybe,' she said, her smile turning enigmatic. Then she reached behind her for the phone. 'I'm calling a cab,' she said.

'Just the one?'

'Well I could get you one, too,' she offered, before pressing on boldly, 'Or we could share.'

'What makes you think I want to share a cab ride with you?'

'Because of the way you've been looking at me in this dress this whole time. Because of the way you _always_ look at me,' she answered him with quiet confidence.

'I'll share, _if_ you ask nicely.'

She smirked, and started dialling from memory. 'I don't do nice.'

He slid his hand across the silky material covering the small of her back, watching her shift a little at the sudden contact. 'Lucky for you, then, I'm in a sharing mood,' he told her.

'Yeah I was real worried there for a minute,' she snarked back at him, even as she leaned into his touch, and he couldn't help but grin.

The truth was, and this was a fact he'd always been aware of on some level, when she wasn't harping on about work-related matters she could actually be fun.

And there was nothing he wanted more right now than a little fun.

xxxxx

'Cuddy.'

'Yep.'

'Hit on _you_.'

'Yep.'

'Now _I'm_ wondering what it is with you and women. All you do is insult them and they throw themselves at you.'

'I know it isn't the James Wilson school of puppy-dog eyes, but it works for me.'

'Clearly. The fact that she was up to her eyeballs in Dutch courage had nothing to do with it, I suppose?'

'An Irish Jew drinking Scottish whiskey for Dutch courage? Incidental. Especially once the French kissing started.'

'Stop being a smart-ass and tell me what happened next.'

'How much detail are we talking, because not much happened after that except -'

Wilson made a face. 'Nothing Cuddy would kill you for telling me.'

'Spoilsport. So then we went to her place, jumped into bed, the end,' he summarised. 'We never talked about it past the next morning until a few days ago when she shows up pregnant. Greg's little swimmers, one; emergency contraception, zero.'

Finished with the retelling, he turned back to his drink to celebrate. But even as he swallowed he could feel eyes on him. He looked over to find Wilson regarding him thoughtfully. House hated it when he did that.

'You can play it up as a meaningless encounter between two lonely drunks all you want,' Wilson began, and House winced. He didn't want to hear this, he just knew it. 'But the fact is, the circumstances are irrelevant now. You're going to be parents together. I know that hasn't sunk in yet, and fair enough. But you'll figure it out eventually, and when you do, things are going to change.'

Somewhere inside, something deep and primal recoiled at the suggestion. _No, no, no._ He didn't want to think about that. Like he'd told Cuddy - he just wanted to sit here and drink and pretend this thing that he sure as hell never asked for wasn't happening at all.

All enjoyment from thinking back to what had happened that night with Cuddy fled as he was dragged inevitably back to reality.

'And here I was so enjoying my cosy little rut,' he said. It was a weak comeback but he was well and truly off his game all of a sudden and he suspected Wilson knew it.

Wilson's reaction, though, was to roll his eyes and say, 'You know, I don't believe I've congratulated _you_ yet.' He clapped House on the shoulder and stuck out his hand. 'Way to go, Dad!'

House ignored the hand, choosing instead to glower down into his glass. 'Shut up,' he said, and tossed the remaining scotch back in one long fiery swallow. 'Just shut up.'


	8. Acceptance

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

xxxxx

CHAPTER EIGHT - Acceptance

xxxxx

She found him just as he was exiting his office.

'Can we talk?'

'You're asking now? Usually it comes out as more of a bark.'

'I mean about - you know what I mean. Get in there.' She pointed back towards his office and he gave her an asinine smile as he moved past her.

'See? Just like that.'

She followed after him with a roll of her eyes for good measure. They'd come to an agreement of sorts in the past couple of weeks, unspoken though it was. House hadn't approached her or brought up the subject at all - he'd withdrawn, and she understood. It was still early days yet, and they both needed time to let everything sink in. So she hadn't sought him out either, just left him to himself, content for the moment to know that he was going to play some part in this. Even if neither of them knew, yet, what that part was.

Today, however, changed things because she'd gone for her first pre-natal exam, and now felt duty-bound to share the details with him.

As he moved around his desk and lowered himself into his chair, she sat facing him and said without preamble, 'Deborah Feao - do you know her?'

'Should I?'

'She's a friend of mine. She's also the best OB/GYN in town.'

He cocked an eyebrow at that. 'If she's so good, how come you don't have her working here?'

'Because she keeps turning down my offers. She prefers private practice, likes the autonomy.'

'Likes the pay check, more like.'

'Yes, she's doing very well for herself. The point is that I went to see her yesterday, after work. Her waiting list is miles long but she's squeezing me into her schedule.'

'You and your connections - good thing too. You might have been stuck with those quacks up in obstetrics.'

'It has nothing to do with how good they are - I just don't want to put them in the position of treating their boss.'

'_And_ you don't want anyone here knowing your little secret.'

'Well there's no way I could go for a pre-natal check-up without the entire hospital knowing before I even got my feet in the stirrups. And you're right - I'm not ready for that yet.' She sighed. 'Anyway, I have something for you.' She opened the folder she was carrying purely for discretion's sake - and pulled out an envelope containing a compact disc, and a picture, and handed them over. 'From the sonogram. I thought you'd want to see.'

He tossed the CD down on his desk, but held onto the picture. She kept talking as he looked at it. 'Everything's progressing as it should for eight weeks. Anything in particular you want to know?'

He didn't respond, just perused the image for a moment longer then went to hand it back to her. She waved him off. 'You can stick it on your fridge,' she said. And when he gave her a look which made it quite clear that sticking things on refrigerators was something sentimental morons did, she smirked and went on, 'Send it to your mother, then. Moms love this kind of thing.'

'You'd know,' he replied pointedly.

She didn't know what must have showed on her face at that, something resembling a deer caught in headlights she suspected, but it was enough to make him backtrack.

'Guess you're not ready to have the M-word thrown at you just yet?'

'Might take a while, yeah,' she said, unnerved, and at the same time annoyed at herself for being so. She searched around for something to say and her eyes landed on the disc lying on his desk. 'You're not going to watch it?' she asked, nodding down at it.

'Old news.' He shrugged. 'I want to see it firsthand.'

'So you... want to come to my next appointment with me?'

'No,' he drawled, and pointed a finger at her midsection. 'I want to see _it_. For myself.'

She found herself crossing her arms over her chest. 'I don't need another sonogram. You can look at that one.'

'Don't want me seeing the old tum-tum? No matter how hard you keep trying to repress this particular factoid, I have seen you naked.'

She rolled her eyes, irritated. But the truth was she didn't really know why she was objecting. It wasn't even an unreasonable request. Besides, it would take five minutes and he would probably just keep bugging her about it until she agreed, anyway. Having talked herself around, she sighed and relented. 'Fine. But not now - tonight, after hours.'

He just gave her a smug look in response. Luckily, she had the perfect way to wipe it off his face.

'You've got clinic duty in five minutes,' she said.

xxxxx

'I'm sneaking around in my own hospital,' she muttered.

It wasn't technically sneaking. Just because the clinic was dark and empty, that didn't mean she didn't have every right to be there. It just felt like she was doing something wrong - sneaking into the clinic at night for a clandestine sonogram. With House.

'Don't worry, you're with a pro.'

Which was true. If anyone was an expert on escape and evasion tactics, it was House. He hardly needed any encouragement, however, so all she said was, 'Let's just get this over with.'

Preceding him into one of the exam rooms, she watched him pull the ultrasound machine over. He looked over at her standing there with her arms crossed uncomfortably over her chest, and patted the exam bed exaggeratedly. She rolled her eyes but complied, pulling up her shirt and unzipping her skirt so she could ease it down a little. There wasn't any need for discussion, he just squirted gel on her belly, smoothed it around with the wand. They both knew how this worked.

As the image appeared, his eyes were fixed on the screen. Meanwhile, she found herself watching him instead.

He looked for a long time, face expressionless. He wasn't talking, just looking, and House's rare silences were always telling. She turned her eyes away, feeling almost as if she was intruding on him in this moment - a feeling she couldn't justify. This was her uterus he was inspecting, after all. This was her... _my baby_, she forced her mind to complete the thought.

She wanted to call him on it, get him to say something at least, but she didn't. Nor did she return her gaze to his face, just closed her eyes instead and relaxed for a moment, deciding to let him try and find whatever it was he was looking for.

The next thing she new, the machine shut off abruptly, and she looked over to see him holding out a box of kleenex. She grabbed a couple and wiped off her stomach, rearranged her clothes, got up off the table and threw the wad of tissues away. She turned back to see him getting to his feet.

She didn't want to just leave it like this. She wanted to know what he was thinking, what he was feeling. She also knew there was little to no chance that he would tell her if she asked. And she found she didn't want to take that chance even more than she wanted to know. But she had to say something - the silence stretching out between them was too strange, too far from what she was used to with him.

'So,' she said, keeping her tone light, 'I hope you're happy now.'

'Happy?' he returned distractedly.

'I let you have your sonogram, didn't I? But don't think for a moment I'm going to let you poke and prod me for the next seven months. You're not an OBGYN, and you certainly better not entertain any notions of being mine. I already have one of those, remember?'

'The good Dr Feao.' Suddenly he looked up at her sharply. 'Did she schedule you for an amnio?'

She frowned. 'Not yet, we didn't -'

'You're thirty-eight, not way over the hill, but getting there - you'll have an amnio and you can tell your bestest buddy to save a little genetic material for me.'

'Why?' she demanded.

'Paternity test,' he replied flatly.

'You're kidding. You think I'm lying to you?'

He shrugged, his whole demeanour suggesting defiant indifference.

'If you must know, you're the only person I've been with in... in the particular time frame we're talking about.' He smirked at her careful wording and she went on angrily. 'You don't really believe it might not be yours. You're just... I don't know what you're doing. Just trying to make my life difficult, probably, like that's anything new. Believe me, if there were any other candidates I'd hardly be heartbroken.'

His eyes dropped away from hers. 'You want me,' he said slowly, his voice tightly controlled, 'To just accept that... that thing is mine. It's no problem for you - it's inside you. I can't just -'

'You mean you won't.'

He groaned and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. 'Don't get pissy like I'm insulting your spotless reputation. This isn't anything to do with who you have or haven't screwed - like I could give a shit.'

'Well what, then?' she demanded, confused and taken aback by all of this.

'I don't get the warm fuzzy maternal experience. I don't want it, either. I'll just take the science, instead, the hard facts. I need to see it.'

She didn't know how to respond to the desperation in his voice. She just stared at him.

'It's possible -' he stopped then and dropped his head, letting out a short, sharp laugh. 'It's _possible_ I'm not handling this too well. Or at all.'

'Yeah,' she replied shortly, still not sure how to respond to him when he was like this, but sensing he was winding down.

'Yeah,' he echoed. 'And with that stunning revelation - which, lets be honest, we could all see coming from miles away - I have to go home, get to bed. And by 'home' I mean 'bar'. And by 'get to bed' I mean 'drink my own weight in alcohol'.'

He glanced up at her, just for a moment as he moved past her, but it was enough for her to see the apology there, the chagrin at losing control, at having exposed himself to her. 'Yeah, see ya,' he muttered.

She couldn't just let him go.

'House,' she stepped after him, her hand landing on his right arm just as his left reached for the door handle. He hesitated, and she curved her fingers round his wrist, holding on. 'There's time, remember?' she said earnestly. 'You told _me_ that the other day. There's time for us to figure things out. Do you really think I expect you to be perfect? I know you - the fact you didn't relocate to Alaska the moment you found out is impressive.' He didn't say anything but she watched his frame relax a little. She decided to try a little brevity, and patted his arm. 'Out of the two of us, though, I have to say I'm surprised you're the one having the meltdown. When do my issues get an airing?'

His mouth twisted up in a smirk, though he still didn't look at her. 'We can take turns freaking out at each other. That won't get old fast.'

'At least I have hormones as an excuse. What's yours? Aside from you being a big drama queen, I mean.'

She smiled inwardly as she saw she'd scored a hit. He turned towards her, leaning one arm against the door. 'Of all the many, _many_ other women I could have knocked up, it had to be you? Allow me my hysterics.'

'Don't I always?' She found herself almost unconsciously mirroring his position as she attempted to stare him down, even as he towered over her. 'Putting up with your temper tantrums, bad behaviour in general, not to mention the not-exactly-infrequent illegal activities is all part of my daily routine.'

He just stood there looking pleased as she listed off his shortcomings. Part of him, she knew from long experience, just loved being scolded - he was like a little kid at times. He would say it was part of his charm. She would never, ever admit that she agreed.

When he reached out then, his hand touching her face, she wasn't surprised. She'd known, she'd _known_ this would happen again. From the moment he'd turned towards her with a sudden warmth in his eyes, she'd known.

She let him tilt her chin up, his thumb sliding along her jaw, and a moment later his mouth covered hers.

It wasn't like the last time. That had been fun, and _good_, but also clumsy and careless and rushed and worlds away from the slow, deliberate way he was kissing her now.

His mouth slid away from hers and left a moist trail across her cheek. 'Let me take you home,' he breathed in her ear.

Her fingers fisted in his shirt and she panted against his neck, breathing in his skin. Her mind was a feverish jumble and it didn't seem fair, she thought, to do this when she wasn't so dunk she could pretend the next day that it had just been the alcohol talking - that she was lonely and he was just there.

No, this time there was no avoiding the fact that this, right now, with him, was exactly what she wanted.

'On that death trap you call a bike?' She pulled back to look at him as she mustered a response. 'No way in hell.'

'Okay, then you take me home.'

Her lips brushed his as she nodded. 'Okay.'


	9. The Morning After Redux

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

xxxxx

CHAPTER NINE - The Morning After Redux

xxxxx

There was a noise, a jostling, a disturbance - something - and he was awake.

His eyes opened and he watched through blurry eyes, from his horizontal position, as Cuddy stood up across the bed and staggered towards the bathroom. There was a brief flash of skin, the fleeting impression of a narrow waist and round hips and then she'd pulled on a robe and disappeared from sight.

It took him a minute or so to get himself together after that - finding pants, cane, equilibrium - but eventually he managed to follow after her.

Propped up in the doorway he said, 'So is this deja vu, or were the last six weeks just an extremely vivid hallucination?'

'I wish,' she muttered.

She looked pale as she stood there, one hand braced on the vanity, staring at the toilet like it was her worst enemy.

'Gonna throw up or what?' he asked, amused at the ways in which this morning was paralleling that other morning they'd woken up together. Although that day she hadn't been the only one feeling sick.

'I hate throwing up.' She was thinking about it, though, and he could tell she was close from the tightness around her eyes and the way her lips pressed together. Finally, though, she shook her head. 'I'm definitely not throwing up with you standing there watching me.' She said it half to herself, as if her stomach might hear her and obey if she just spoke firmly enough.

She went to move past him out the door but he stopped her.

'Twice in two months,' he said. 'This is becoming a habit.'

She gave him a wan smile. 'Twice is hardly a habit. Twice is more like a... coincidence.' She moved away and he watched her leave through the other door, heading off down the hall.

He went into the bathroom himself, then, taking care of a few matters of his own - peeing, ridding himself of morning breath with Cuddy's mouthwash. He stopped short of using her toothbrush because that, he thought with an inward smirk, would be gross.

He realised as he went back out into the bedroom and found his t-shirt that he was actually feeling... not bad at all. Well-rested and relaxed and not at all how he tended to feel first thing in the morning.

Sex, he thought as he ambled down the corridor. The great cure-all. That is, he amended, unless you had morning sickness. Then you were on your own.

She was seated at the kitchen table when he found her. There was an open box of crackers by her elbow and the smell of ginger and lemon emanating from the steaming mug in her hands.

'If you want coffee,' she said, 'You'll have to make it yourself.'

'Some hostess you are,' he remarked snidely.

'I'm surprised you haven't made a run for it yet,' she returned. 'You didn't stick around for coffee and chit-chat last time.'

'I'm afraid you'll just track me down at work later and force me to 'talk about it' anyway,' he said, making quotation marks in the air.

'Don't you think we should talk about it?' she said, her tone and expression carefully neutral. 'I didn't ask if you wanted to,' she added when he made a face. 'I asked if you think we should.'

He propped himself up against the counter and rubbed his forehead.

'I know, I know,' she went on. 'It's too early for a deep and meaningful conversation.'

'It's never a good time for one of those.'

She smiled faintly. 'I don't disagree. But last night -' she began.

'Or,' he cut her off abruptly, 'We could try not spoiling a good thing by dissecting it to death.'

'You think it was a good thing?'

'You're right. It was a bad, bad thing. Naughty, even.'

'I'm not saying it wasn't...' When he grinned she rolled her eyes. 'Could you stop being _you_ for a minute? It's just that things are complicated enough right now - that's all I'm saying. We really don't need any more...'

'Complications?'

'Right.'

'Well 'talking about it',' he repeated the quotation mark gesture, 'Always makes things more complicated. So I say we don't do that. From now on, fight club rules apply.'

She stared at him. 'What?'

'What's the first rule of fight club?' She didn't reply so he answered for her. 'Don't talk about fight club!'

'I never saw that movie.'

'Well, the book was better, anyway. But you've only got to remember one thing.'

She raised an eyebrow, her demeanour unimpressed. 'Don't talk about some movie I never saw?'

'Exactly. Now, what was that about coffee?' he said.

She gave him an exasperated look over the rim of her cup, but as she put it down again he could see she was fighting off amusement. Then she sighed. 'In the freezer. I haven't gotten around to tossing it yet.'

As he found the coffee and brought it over to the machine he proceeded to inform her of the complete lack of any data to support caffeine having detrimental effects on foetal development - not at levels found in an average cup of joe, at any rate. Which she should really know, he pointed out, being a doctor herself. Supposedly.

She listened to it all, watching his futile attempts to work her coffee machine, and when he finished talking simply said, 'I'm not getting my baby hopped up on caffeine.'

'How about helping _me_ get hopped up, then?'

'You know, a man your age who doesn't know how to make his own coffee probably doesn't deserve any. And stop hitting it - you break it, you're buying me a new one.'

He narrowed his eyes at her, reaching into his pocket. Vicodin beat out coffee any day. 'Not much of a morning person, are you?'

'I used to be a morning person. I used to get up and go for a run, eat breakfast and go to work feeling great. Now I get up, spend some time in the bathroom depending on how much I'm going to throw up that morning, then I sit here drinking ginger tea, which by the way, I can't stand, because it's the only thing that seems to help the nausea, and then I drag myself in to work feeling like crap. So no, at the moment, I'm not much of a morning person.'

Finished with her speech, she got up and crossed the space between them. 'Filters are up there,' she pointed to a shelf over his head, 'They go in here. Then the coffee. Three scoops. The water goes in there. And I can't believe I had to tell you that. Idiot. I'm going to take a shower. I'll be leaving for work in twenty minutes - I can drop you at home on my way in. Don't break it,' were her parting words as she left the room.

He watched her go, then turned back to the coffee machine and began following her directions.

If he wanted coffee, he bought it. Or got Cameron to make it for him. Still, he thought somewhat defensively, he would have figured it out on his own. Eventually. She was just cranky. Cranky and sick.

Her symptoms were textbook - there was no mystery here for him to solve. Not medically, anyway. He wondered about her, though, he couldn't help it. He wondered about what was going through her head, especially after what had happened last night. He didn't have an answer, though, not yet.

And then there was the question of what had been going through his own mind. One minute, he remembered, all he had wanted to do was escape, the next he found himself drawn to her, irresistibly so.

He decided to fall back on his old standby - it seemed like a good idea at the time. A really good idea. She'd seemed to think so too, though this morning was another story. Now she seemed happy to let him brush off the discussion entirely, to pass it off as a one time thing. The problem there being that it had happened twice.

Twice wasn't a habit, she was right. But twice could mean more than a coincidence, too - twice could be a pattern emerging. He liked patterns. Patterns made sense, they could be defined and quantified.

Patterns, he thought as he sipped his freshly brewed coffee, had no choice but to repeat themselves.


	10. The Doctor is In the House

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

xxxxx

CHAPTER TEN - The Doctor is In (the House)

xxxxx

As he turned a corner and moved down the corridor he noticed Wilson not far away, standing outside a restroom door, checking his watch.

'Hey,' he said as House approached.

House just looked at him, and then up at the little figure with the triangle-shaped body on the door. 'So, lunch?' he said finally.

'I was just in a meeting. Cuddy called a five minute recess. That was,' Wilson checked his watch again, 'Eight minutes ago.'

'Anxious to get back to it? Must have been some meeting.'

'Actually I was just wondering if I should go in and check on her.'

'You know she's in there puking, right?'

'Yes, I managed to work that much out myself, thanks.'

'That's why you're the smart one. Hey, I don't mind - makes me the pretty one.'

'Know what I think? I think _you_ should go in there.'

He made a face. 'I have it on good authority that she doesn't want me watching her spew.'

'She told you that?'

'Yep.'

'And since when do you do exactly what Cuddy says?'

'Since she can make a paternity claim and steal half my money. Duh.'

'Right.' Wilson's eyes narrowed suddenly. 'Hey, when did she tell you that, anyway? You've been completely avoiding her lately from what I've seen.'

'You realise we look like idiots standing here, right? Or maybe perverts. I think I prefer perverts.'

'You're avoiding the question. Why -'

'How long's she been in there now?'

Wilson sighed as House ignored him. 'Ten minutes.'

'Here's the plan. I'll go in there and make sure she hasn't fallen in. You stay out here and make sure no one has to pee.'

'I think we already scared off an intern or two.'

'Who can blame them - a couple of old pervs like us?' he said as he pushed through the door.

xxxxx

As he entered he caught a glimpse of her, propped up against the wall by the sinks, looking miserable. At the sudden intrusion she straightened up and went to move away, only to stop when she saw who it was. Frowning, she pressed her forehead back against the cool tile. 'This is the ladies room,' she said, her eyes closed.

'So this is where all that secret women's business goes on. I don't know what I was expecting. Crystal fountains? Cage dancers?'

'Why are you in here?' she clarified.

'Found Wilson hovering outside.'

'You can tell him I'm coming. I just need a minute.'

He didn't leave, stepping closer instead. 'So what do you tell people when they ask why you're bolting to the restroom all the time?'

She shook her head, still not looking at him. 'I haven't been vomiting that often during the day. Mostly I just _want_ to.'

'You've lost weight.'

'A little, yes. Sweet of you to notice,' she said dryly.

'Hard not to when your hip bones are sticking into me all night.' At that she turned to stare at him, but before she could respond he asked, 'Are you taking anything?'

'B6,' she replied, crossing her arms as she leaned with one shoulder against the wall. 'It's helping a little.' He raised an eyebrow at her. 'I'm not hyperemetic, if that's what you're getting at - I'm not even close. Really, I'm fine.'

'Yeah, you look _fabulous_.'

She sighed, tilting her head to rest her temple against the wall. 'I'm managing. Why the sudden interest? I know you like interrogating people but this is a fairly clear-cut case.'

He shrugged. 'Because I care?'

She closed her eyes as she laughed. 'Even if you did, there's nothing you can do. It's just a few more weeks, anyway, and I'll be past it. Believe me, no one is looking forward to that more than me.'

He moved as she spoke, grabbing a paper towel from the dispenser and running it under the nearest faucet. She turned to watch him as he moved behind her, reaching for her hair and laying the cool, damp towel across the back of her neck. She sighed and allowed it, tilting her head further forward.

'You're being nice to me,' she said after a moment. 'Should I be worried?'

'Maybe I'm hoping it'll improve my chances of getting you into bed again.' She snorted softly and he went on, 'Wilson already thinks we're getting it on in here.'

'What did you tell him?'

'Nothing. He's just naturally suspicious - probably got his ear stuck to the door right now. Wanna give him something to listen to?'

'No. I don't.'

'Seriously, it'd take your mind off things.' He curved a hand around her hip. She promptly removed it.

'I can't believe you're groping me while I'm standing here sick,' she complained.

'Then you obviously don't know me very well.'

'Anyway, I thought we just weren't going to talk about this?'

'Well I have to talk about it a little - how else am I supposed to proposition you? Interpretive dance?' he ventured. 'I could do that, I guess, if you don't mind a few lewd gestures.'

'House.' She reached up to pull the paper towel away from her neck as she stepped away from him, tossing it in the nearest receptacle.

'Smoke signals?' he tried. 'Semaphore?'

She was trying to cover up her amusement with disapproval. 'You can't proposition me at all. We're at work,' she pointed out. 'It's the middle of the day.'

'It's a matter of timing, then. Explains why the make-out session last night in the clinic worked out so well. Not to mention that time in your office. Why don't I come by tonight and you can throw yourself at me again? That's always fun.'

'Once! One time,' she protested, 'And I was drunk, and it's not like that's going to happen again any time soon.' She put a hand to her eyes as she shook her head, then brought it away to look at her watch. 'I've got to get back. I've been in here for ages.'

'Feels like it, doesn't it?'

She gave him a look, and moved to go.

'So, tonight? My place or yours?' he said as her hand reached for the door.

She stopped and stared at him, her mouth opening to reply. He expected a curt response, but none came and the moment stretched out until finally she looked away. 'Yours,' she said. 'Maybe. If I feel better later.' She was gone then, without waiting for a reply. Which was a good thing, since he hadn't come up with one yet. 'Coming Dr Wilson?' she was saying as he pushed through the door after her.

Wilson hung back as she started down the corridor without looking back. 'She's looking better,' he said.

House shrugged. 'I've got the magic touch. It's a blessing and a curse.'

Wilson looked at him askance. 'What were you doing in there?'

'You have to ask?'

'I didn't hear anything.'

'Which means you were listening. Now we know who the real pervert is, don't we?'

'Dr Wilson?' Cuddy's voice interrupted them. She was looking back at them expectantly. Wilson spared him a look and then jogged to catch up with her.

'So what was this meeting about again?' House heard him say as they moved away. 'I was so busy guarding the bathroom against infidels I've forgotten.'

He missed her reply as he turned away, trying to remember where he'd been going before running into Wilson. Lunch, he decided. And then he thought he might find somewhere he could take a nap.

Apparently he was going to have another busy night. Well, maybe - but he was nothing if not an optimist.


	11. Not Just for Christmas

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

xxxxx

CHAPTER ELEVEN - Not Just for Christmas

xxxxx

She'd sometimes wondered what it would be like, being with House - the man could be impossible, and that was just at work. Sometimes she'd found herself pitying Stacy and the women who'd come before her, for what they must have had to put up with.

Now she was discovering for herself what it involved, as she sat surrounded by rumpled bedclothes and Chinese takeout boxes, with him beside her, flicking through late night programming in between shovelling lo mein noodles in his mouth.

For all his big-boy toys and habits, his more shallow tendencies and comments, sometimes it was hard to remember that underneath the genius and eccentricities, he was really just another man. Give him sex, food, and television, in that order, and he was happy.

And if he was a typical guy, then she was most definitely a typical girl, because while he was happily munching and clicking away, she was sitting here thinking about what it all meant.

Of course, she reflected, there really wasn't any point comparing this to what he must have been like with Stacy. That had been a relationship - this was not. She didn't know what it was they were doing, exactly, but it was definitely not that. That would be insane.

'Completely insane,' she muttered down into her carton of rice.

'Not until it starts answering you back. Until then you're only slightly deranged.' She looked over to see him watching her. 'Do you always talk to your food?'

'Do you always talk with your mouth full?'

'No,' he looked affronted, then stuffed another forkful in. 'Aksually, yeph.'

And this was going to be the father of her child. Wonderful. They could duke it out to see who was the more mature. The kid would start winning once it learned to talk.

She poked unenthusiastically at her rice. Bland food was good right now, just extremely unexciting.

He'd gone back to channel surfing, but spared her an irritated look as she heaved a sigh. 'What?'

'Oh, just thinking about how much my life has changed recently,' she said morosely. 'You know, a few months ago I was at the top of my game, everything was going just the way it was supposed to. I'd just gotten an _award_ telling me how great I was doing. And now look at me. I'm pregnant, about to put my career on hold to be a mother - something I have absolutely no idea how to do. And not to mention,' she added with chagrin, 'I'm here, in bed with you, eating leftovers at midnight. If you'd told me at the award presentation that night that this is where I'd end up - well, I wouldn't have had that fourth glass of champagne, that's for sure.'

Having gotten that off her chest, she relaxed back against the headboard and dug back into her rice.

'You know what might help?' he asked.

'What?'

He pointed and spoke with his mouth full again. 'TV.'

She raised an eyebrow at him. 'Jay Leno will solve all my problems.'

'He's interviewing Cameron Diaz tonight.'

'Oh, well that's different.' She rolled her eyes and ate a few forkfuls, dividing her attention between him and the show. 'So what is it, the legs?'

'You are so shallow. She happens to be a skilled conversationalist.'

At that moment on the screen, the actress was talking about the pains she'd taken to chose her outfit for the show.

'I can see that,' she drawled. Setting the carton down on the nightstand, she reached down to the end of the bed and grabbed a t-shirt that was hanging over the footboard. She slipped it on, announcing, 'I'm getting some water.'

'I'll have a beer, since you offered.'

'I didn't.'

'Well that was rude of you,' his voice followed her out of the room as she made her way to the kitchen.

It took her longer than expected to find a glass, fill it with water, and then discover that there wasn't actually any beer in the fridge, since she was temporarily distracted by the large cage sitting on the counter. Or more specifically, by what was living inside it.

She made her way back to the bedroom and stopped in the doorway. 'You don't have any beer,' she said. 'Do you want something else?'

He put the carton of Mongolian beef he'd been working on to the side and gestured for her to hand over her water instead, which she did after taking another mouthful herself. He finished it off, put the glass down, only to turn back and catch her wrist as she climbed back into bed, pulling her towards him.

'I really need to get this off you,' he said, tugging at the hem of the t-shirt. 'You're getting girl-germs all over it.'

She let him pull it off over her head, watching as he balled it up and sent it sailing across the room. 'As opposed to the floor-germs it's picking up now?' she pointed out as his hands moved around her waist.

'I'm counting on the dust-bunnies to rise up against the invading cootie hordes,' he said as if it should have been self-explanatory.

'You're worried about cooties, meanwhile there's a rat living in your kitchen?'

'Met Steve, did you?' he asked distractedly, more interested in kissing her bare shoulder.

'If you mean, did I notice the great big cage when I walked right past it, yes, I did. What are you doing with a rat?'

'I can't have a pet?'

His mouth reached the curve of her neck and she tilted her head to the side, even as she frowned slightly. 'You... can. But where did it come from?'

He hummed thoughtfully against her skin. Apparently the question required some deliberation. Finally he shrugged. 'Pet store?'

'You don't know where it came from?' She drew away, ducking to catch his eye but he just pulled her down beside him with an arm around her waist, burying his face in her chest.

'It's a long story,' he mumbled eventually.

'Fine, I don't really care anyway.' She sighed, fingers teasing idly through his hair. 'You know,' she mused, 'Just last year I was thinking about getting a cat. But then I decided it was too much responsibility.'

He didn't say anything and there was quiet for a moment. And then her shoulders began to shake, and the hands in his hair went to cover her mouth.

'A cat!' she gasped out before being overtaken by a wave of helpless laughter.

Beside her he had drawn away warily. 'You're getting hysterical. That means I get to slap you. The question is, where?'

She was only half listening to him, pressing her lips together tight, trying to stifle her giggles. But she caught the gist of it, and it occurred to her that if she didn't do something, she _was_ going to get hysterical. Or possibly burst into tears.

Her amusement fading, she rolled over towards him, managing to catch his hand just as it was aiming for her backside. 'I'm fine. Thank you.'

'Just checking,' was his unapologetic response.

She used her grip on his wrist to push him over onto his back, and draping herself across his chest she kissed him, long and deep, enjoying the way his hands moved up her back and into her hair. Maybe this wasn't the smartest, most responsible way to deal with her problems, but it certainly wasn't unpleasant.

The sound of the audience laughing uproariously drew his attention momentarily, and his mouth slid away from hers as he glanced up at the television. 'You don't mind if I call you Cameron, do you?'

'Yes,' she said, 'I do. A lot.' She raised up to swing her leg over his body and straddle him, then leaned back down to return her mouth to his.

'Kind of an awkward name,' he reflected as she pressed kisses along his prickly jaw.

'You think?'

His hands retraced their path down her back, coming to settle on her hips, where she covered them with her own.

'Hope they're not to bony for you.'

'My dear Miss Diaz, all the best bulimic stars have bony hips.'

'Do you want me to leave you two alone?' she demanded.

'Cameron's a wild child - she'd definitely be up for a threesome. Hang on, which Cameron are we talking about now?'

'I think this would go a lot better if you'd stop talking altogether,' she said, and then, once she'd located the remote and switched off the TV, she set about making him far too busy to speak.

xxxxx

Later, she moved to lie beside him as her breathing slowed and the sweat began to dry on her skin.

She suspected he was starting to fall asleep as she stared up at the ceiling and the silence stretched out between them. With nothing else to occupy her attention, her thoughts began to crowd back in on her.

'This isn't going to be a thing, you know,' she said into the quiet. 'It can't be. We'd have to be crazy, right?'

'Guess that depends what your definition of 'thing' is,' he muttered.

'I mean we can't get involved. And I know you're going to say that this is fairly involved already, but you can't tell me you're looking for a relationship here. It would just be too easy to confuse things.'

He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. 'Listening to the wheels grinding around in your head all the time is really starting to hurt my ears.'

'That's all you have to say?'

'All right, yes, we're making a grand effort out of not dealing with the big scary issue here, but you're the only one confusing things. I'd be perfectly happy to label this 'just sex', and keep it that way.'

'Just sex?'

'Yep.'

''Just sex' is how we got into this mess in the first place.'

'Well some people just never learn. We should stop this right now or you might get even more pregnant. You just said yourself you don't want to be 'involved',' he reminded her.

'I don't.'

'Good. You'll be surprised at how well I can do the just sex thing. Tell you what, I'll roll over and pretend to sleep so you can do the walk of shame out of here.'

She sighed and pushed herself into a sitting position. 'You don't have to pretend to sleep. I should go, anyway.'

He just watched her for a moment. 'I'm hardly going to beg you to stay - that would violate the terms of the 'just sex' arrangement - but,' he hesitated, lifting his eyes to the ceiling, 'You know, if you wanted to -'

'I know.' She smiled ruefully as she started gathering her clothes together. 'But I won't want to drive home first thing in the morning when I'm feeling sick again.'

'Good, I don't really want you hurling in my bathroom. I was just being nice.'

'Twice in one day? You're getting soft in your old age.'

'Excuse me, _soft_? Wanna come back over here and say that?'

She grinned at the challenge in his voice, and found that she did want to. The thought of climbing back into bed was a far more appealing prospect than the drive home along empty streets, back to her empty house.

But practicality won out. It was late and she had morning sickness and work to look forward to when she woke up in just a few hours. Still, it was tempting.

Almost, she thought as she finished getting dressed and saw herself out, too tempting.


	12. Self Help

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

xxxxx

CHAPTER TWELVE - Self Help

xxxxx

She was at the front desk, receiving a stack of messages and reminding herself for the umpteenth time to hire a new assistant, when she glanced up to see House come through the front doors. He either didn't see her, or was ignoring her - the latter option being far more likely. She looked down at her watch. It was five past eleven, and he was just arriving.

'Brenda? What are Dr House's clinic hours today?'

The nurse turned to her computer screen and after a few mouse-clicks said, 'He's... not on today.'

'Why don't we change that?'

The other woman gave her an approving smile. 'Gladly.'

She caught up to him just as he was stepping onto the elevator.

'Dr Cuddy,' he greeted her as if he'd only just now seen her. 'I'd say good morning, but it doesn't look like one for you. Rough night?'

'And you, Dr House?' she asked, glancing down at her watch again. 'Any reason you're... over two hours late?'

'Well speaking of rough nights, this girl kept me up till all hours and I was so worn out I slept right through my alarm. Well I would have if I'd set it, anyway.'

'How nice for you. I hope you enjoy the extra two hours in the clinic I've scheduled you for today just as much.'

The doors opened on his floor then and she preceded him out while he remained in place for a moment, glaring after her. She looked back, spurring him into action.

'So this girl,' he went on loudly as he stepped after her. 'She couldn't get enough of me. And she was into some kinky stuff. Very demanding. And loud, let me tell you.'

'I'm surprised you could keep up,' she remarked archly, effectively shutting him up just long enough for her to get a word in edgewise. 'I have a case for you,' she told him. 'The guy keeps getting passed around from department to department and -'

'What a shocking waste of hospital resources. Your head must be about to explode from the inefficiency of it all.'

'You weren't here earlier so I left the file with Dr Foreman. Just figure out what's wrong with him. That's what you do, remember?'

'Oh all right, I suppose I could take the case as a special favour to you,' he said as he pulled his office door open. 'With the understanding you'll be doing me a special favour _later_.' His voice dropped suggestively and he leaned in towards her.

She spared a glance into the next room where House's team were seated around the table, and ducked past him into the office. 'I'm not going to bribe you to do your job.'

'I really think you should - productivity will increase by leaps and -'

'You'll take the case,' she interrupted, 'And not just for the obvious reason that I can fire you if I want.' She smiled, confident in spite of his attempts to disarm her. 'You'll do it because you love making a diagnosis where five other doctors have failed.'

'Don't bring my ego into this. It doesn't like being talked about, it's sensitive.'

'The big ones always are,' she drawled.

'Ouch. Now you've hurt its feelings.'

She rolled her eyes. 'Just get to work, will you?'

'Ooh, yes Ma'am,' he said as he threw open the door between his office and the conference room, and addressed his team. 'I love it when she orders me around.'

'I'll remember you said that,' she tossed over her shoulder as she left by the other door.

Back on the elevator she found herself wedged in between an orderly pushing an elderly patient in a wheelchair on one side, and on the other a large man in a suit who had apparently showered in cologne that morning.

She tried to breathe shallowly as she watched the floor numbers slowly descend. The cloying scent seemed to stay with her, though, even after the doors parted and she barrelled out ahead of the other occupants and headed towards her office.

Of course, it wasn't just the aftershave - although she had to admit that was one of the benefits of House never shaving - everything made her nauseous these days. Sitting at her desk, nibbling crackers or raw vegetables in a vain attempt to settle her stomach, this was just how her days went now. The nausea tended to subside a little by late afternoons, and evenings weren't bad. But it was exhausting, feeling sick all the time, and there was the added pressure of having to hide it from her colleagues, too - not the easiest of tasks when working in a hospital.

She knew it wasn't going to last much longer, but that knowledge didn't make her any less sick in the present. She thought of the previous day, in the restroom with House, and she sighed. Because that made her think of last night. Not to mention the innuendos he'd thrown her way just now.

_What am I doing?_ she asked herself. The answer was, she didn't know. Everything was just so... complicated.

But then, things had always been complicated where House was concerned. She'd known him for a long time, and it seemed that things were destined to always be fluid, changing. He was at times a patient, a colleague, an adversary. Always a challenge. Something like a friend. And now this - he was becoming something else again. They were going to be tied together from now on, they were going to be family. What did that make him to her? A lover? A partner? An occasional babysitter with benefits?

Calling it complicated was a vast understatement, really. The morning sickness was nothing compared to the churning thoughts in her head.

Yes, she cared about him. And yes, she was attracted to him, but she wasn't a love-sick teenager, this wasn't an infatuation. Spending the night together a time or two didn't change that. And it was the same for him, she knew. The other night after the sonogram, it had gotten very emotional and things had boiled over and it had seemed natural in the moment to turn to each other. And last night, again, had made for a very pleasant distraction. But that's all it had been - a diversion from reality, something they both needed.

Because the fact was, she thought as another wave of nausea rolled over her, she had bigger problems to deal with than whatever was happening with House.

She left that night at six thirty, passing the now familiar orange bike in its usual place. He was probably in his office right now, she thought, still drilling his team or else brooding over test results and medical journals.

It went in cycles. One day he would be playing gameboy in the janitor's closet and ducking out before five, the next he was haunting his office until all hours of the night - his obsessive need to solve a puzzle once presented to him having overridden his desire to slack off - only to revert back to his lay-about ways once the solution was found.

He had nothing like a work ethic. For him, it was all about occupying his enormous brain, and whether that was with a medical mystery or a video game or by delving into his colleague's personal lives, it didn't seem to matter much.

She had to wonder what he would be like as a parent. It was difficult to picture. Would a child present a new, intriguing challenge for him, or would the mundaneness of the parenting routine bore him?

This was the kind of question that was constantly occupying her thoughts of late. She wondered how he was going to handle this. She wondered how _she_ was going to handle this, whether she was going to be a good mother. And she worried. A lot. About everything - about the months of pregnancy ahead of her, about the baby's health, and her own. She worried about the hospital, and how she was ever going to hand it over to someone else to run. She worried that she wasn't going to like this whole motherhood thing, and that she was going to spend her maternity leave wishing she was back at work.

And she felt guilty.

Because even thinking about that sort of thing made her feel like a bad person, focusing on her career when surely her priorities were supposed to be different now.

Apparently she was capable of being a bad mother before she even became one. It didn't exactly bode well for the future.

So she spent the drive home from the hospital worrying, and when she got home she made herself a plate of toast and ate it while she sorted through her mail, and made a shopping list for when she got around to going to the grocery store, and other small chores, and then finally went to her room and collapsed on her bed.

Aside from giving herself an ulcer, she wasn't feeling too bad, just tired and sluggish. She found herself missing exercise - she just hadn't had the energy lately. Usually she jogged in the mornings, went to the gym on the weekend, scheduled a game of tennis or golf with friends when she had time. She hadn't done any of those things in weeks - and there was another concern to add to the pile, because the fitter and healthier she was, the better for the baby. And right now she was feeling neither of those things.

With a sigh she rolled over onto her side, arms wrapped around her middle. As she did, her eyes fell on a pile of dark material hanging over the back of a chair, frowning when she didn't recognise it. Then she remembered - House's shirt. He'd left it here the other morning, when she had all but shoved him out the front door without waiting to see if he'd left anything behind.

She stared at it, lying there so innocuously. It was just a shirt. But she remembered pushing it off his shoulders and down his arms, running her hands up under his t-shirt while his mouth assaulted her throat and how they shuffled awkwardly across the room till her knees hit the side of the bed, and then when her back hit the mattress...

She sat up quickly, trying to dispel the image from her mind.

Yes, the sex had been nice - very nice - but there was no point dwelling on it. He was working anyway, she thought. And if he wasn't, what was she going to do, call him and ask him to come over? Show up on his doorstep and invite herself in?

She knew she could. Just like she knew he wouldn't turn her down. But no, she wasn't going to do that.

She felt like it was a bad habit to get into. She couldn't just go running to House every time she needed to take her mind off her troubles. Even if he didn't seem to mind too much, and even if she was starting to discover she felt more like herself when she was with him than she had since this whole mess began. Even so.

What she really needed, she decided, was to take a bath and relax, and then go to bed early and catch up on some of the sleep she'd missed last night.

The thing to remember, she told herself as she slipped into the warm water a few minutes later, was that her problems only seemed overwhelming. But they weren't. She knew she could handle things - after all, handling things was what she did.

_You can do this,_ she told herself, repeating it a few more times. _You can do this,_ y_ou can do this,_ y_ou can do this._ Like a self-help tape for people with low self-esteem, running on a continuous loop in her head.

Yes, she could do this. Just as soon as she figured out how.


	13. Those Who Show Up

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

xxxxx

CHAPTER THIRTEEN - Those Who Show Up

xxxxx

The weekend had come and gone and so had his latest patient. Well, the patient was recovering anyway, and was therefore out from under House's care - that was all that mattered as far as he was concerned.

Time got away from him sometimes, when he was focused on a case. Suddenly it was Tuesday and he was standing around with Wilson, pilfering lollipops, and waiting to see whether Cuddy was going to notice if he didn't sign in for his clinic duty.

He hadn't seen much of her the past few days. He didn't know if that was because she was busy, or if she was avoiding him. For once, he wasn't actively avoiding her, so he knew it wasn't him.

He looked towards her office thoughtfully, and beside him Wilson was apparently paying attention.

'You know what's up with her?' he asked, nodding in the same direction.

'Gonna need to be more specific. Up with her how? When? Where? Why?'

'Ah, up with her in general?'

'I've got a 'why' for you. _Why_ am I suddenly an expert in Cuddy-nomics? You give one sperm sample,' he muttered.

'I'm talking about the fact that she's really been on the warpath this past week. I would have thought you of all people would have fallen in the path of destruction.'

He shrugged. 'Hadn't noticed.'

Which wasn't actually a lie, uncharacteristic as that was. He really hadn't noticed - if she'd been ruffling feathers, she hadn't made any attempt to ruffle his. Not since the night she'd spent at his place, anyway.

Which was interesting, he thought.

'You haven't noticed?' Wilson questioned. 'My department's been buried under a storm of memos, and I know we're not the only ones.'

'I don't read memos.'

'Of course not.' Wilson sighed, and there was a pause before he went on carefully. 'So is it just me or is she...'

'Overcompensating for her out-of-control personal life by turning her hospital into a totalitarian regime? Making herself feel better by making everybody else miserable? Just plain flipping out?'

'D, all of the above?'

'You get an A-plus, young Jimmy.'

Suddenly the nurse on duty behind the desk leaned towards them, having caught the topic of their discussion.

'You know,' she confided, apparently eager to share, 'She was interviewing new assistants this morning - two of them left in tears.'

'Wow,' said Wilson.

'Cool,' said House.

And then all three of them started a little when the office doors they were regarding suddenly opened and the subject of their gossip session appeared.

The nurse had already taken a large step away from them and was suddenly extremely absorbed in some paperwork, while the two men reacted somewhat slower.

'Crap, she's spotted me. Don't make eye contact. Don't make eye contact!' he hissed, wheeling around and heading in the opposite direction.

'Dr Wilson,' Cuddy barked, surprising both of them enough that they abandoned their escape and turned back to face her.

When she reached them she gestured at the folder Wilson was carrying. 'I don't suppose those are your staff performance reviews?'

'Ah, no, actually -' he began.

'You know I wanted those yesterday, right?'

'Yes, I got your memos. All four of them.'

'I suppose they're writing themselves while you're loitering in the lobby.'

Floundering, he tried to shift her attention. 'How come I'm in trouble and he's not?'

_Amateur_, House thought, smiling mildly. 'Did mine two weeks ago,' he said happily.

Wilson stared at him. 'You're kidding.'

Cuddy rolled her eyes. 'The one thing I never have to chase him down for.'

'I love staff evaluations,' he enthused. 'I could do them every week. Want me to write yours for you? 'Dr Albright, blinds patients with his over-peroxided teeth, might do better in geriatrics, since they're all half-blind anyway'. 'Dr Singh, needs to return to her home planet -''

'She's not that bad,' Wilson protested.

'She once told me that acupuncture is an effective form of pain management.'

'Well, it can be.'

'Yeah, but she dresses like a hippy and she always smells like patchouli. Might as well have gotten her medical degree from space cadet academy.'

'I think the oncology department can do without your input, actually,' Cuddy broke in. 'I'm sure Dr Wilson is on his way right now to finish his reviews.' She looked at him pointedly and he raised his eyebrows in defeat.

'I... guess I'm on my way, then.'

'Escape while you still can,' House stage-whispered after him.

'And you,' she turned on him, 'Should know better than to hang around down here when your clinic shift starts in three minutes.'

'Just on my way to sign in.'

She gave him a dubious look. 'Good, why don't you go do that?'

He opened his mouth to respond with something witty and then closed it again. He moved off without another word, because sometimes, he thought, you have to leave them wanting more. A casual glance back in her direction as he leaned over the desk and told his name to the clerk revealed her to be still watching him, and he smirked around the lollipop in his mouth as he made his way to exam room three.

Not half an hour later she was back, begging for more.

'You've seen one patient?' she questioned as she flung the door open, interrupting level five of his new Trauma Centre game.

'Where's the special treatment?' he threw back, shutting his DS. 'Where are the perks? I was sure sleeping with the boss, I'd have all sorts of work-related windfalls coming my way. Like not having to work at all.'

'That's not remotely funny,' she told him disapprovingly.

'Who's laughing? I want a better parking space, too. And a free supply of these,' he held up another lollipop as he unwrapped it, 'And my own personal candy striper, oh, just because. And a pony, and -'

'I'm calling in your next patient,' she said wearily.

No sense of humour, he thought, adding it to the list in his head as he reached out with his cane and prodded her before she got the door open all the way.

'Stick around - think we could pull off a quickie? Not like anyone who saw you come in here is going to disturb us, you've got them all good and scared. Probably think you're in here chewing me out. Which I would absolutely be up for, by the way.'

'Do I really need to tell you that _nothing_ inappropriate is _ever_ going to happen between us here at work, no matter what our status outside the hospital?'

'No, your response is disappointingly predictable. I just like making you make that face - yep, there it is.'

'I think I saw a mother with triplets out there - I think she'll be up first,' she threatened casually.

'On our own time, though,' he pressed, 'That's still on, as far as I know. Why don't I come round tonight, you can _really_ show me who's boss.'

He thought he saw the hint of a smile before she looked away. 'Tempting as that sounds, I don't think so.'

'Got some other hot date lined up?'

'I'm just busy. And I do have to sleep sometime, you know.'

Running hot and cold - another symptom, and a particularly annoying one, he discovered. Because it was disappointing, he realised. He was disappointed. And he didn't deal with rejection particularly well.

'Expectant mommies need their rest,' he sneered.

'Yes, we do,' she returned without flinching. Yet another interesting development, he thought, if the M-word wasn't phasing her. 'Now, I am busy,' she went on, 'And you _will_ deign to treat some people, no matter how much of a burden it is on your hectic gaming schedule.'

'Only because you asked so nicely.' His words followed her out the door, and the next moment she was herding in a woman and what had to be triplets, because no one would willingly have three children under the age of four if they came along separately.

Especially when they all started crying, one after another, in a cascade effect. He looked up to see Cuddy definitely smiling now as she closed the door behind them.

And then he looked at the tightly smiling mother of this little walking disease cluster. She had to be a serious mental case, he decided, sizing her up warily. No one would have three. Not when just the one caused so much trouble all on its own.


	14. The Long Weekend

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

xxxxx

CHAPTER FOURTEEN - The Long Weekend

xxxxx

Her grand resolution to remain strong, and to deal with the issues she was currently facing in a responsible, productive manner, lasted exactly eight days.

It was a Saturday, and she went to the grocery store, and the dry cleaners, and a hair appointment - took care of all her usual weekend errands. In the afternoon she went for a long walk around her neighbourhood, and while it wasn't exactly her usual workout, still it was something, and it felt good to get outside in the fresh air and stretch her legs.

In the evening she made herself a simple dinner of steamed rice and vegetables, and after that went to her bedroom to find the novel she was currently in the middle of. Because there wasn't anything good on TV, and since the hospital hadn't rung with any pressing disasters requiring her presence, she had nothing better to do.

As soon as she crossed the threshold, however, her eyes fell on it. The shirt. Lying neatly folded on top of her dresser now, as it had since she'd washed it the previous weekend.

She stopped in her tracks and just looked at it for a moment, the novel forgotten, pulling her bottom lip absently between her teeth.

Thirty minutes later she was knocking on his door.

'Hi,' she greeted him when it opened.

He stood there looking at her, his expression neutral. 'Hi.'

She walked in past him, not bothering to wait for an invitation that might never come. 'Hope I'm not interrupting anything.' She smiled faintly, taking in his attire that seemed to consist of pyjama pants and a t-shirt even older and rattier than his usual fare.

'Got a pair of Swedish twins hiding in the closet. Does that count?'

She ignored that. 'Here, I brought you your shirt back.'

'How thoughtful of you.' He took it from her with a smirk. 'And it's clean, too.'

'That's what happens when you wash things.'

'What, no ironing service?'

'I didn't think you even knew what an iron was.'

He tossed the shirt towards the nearest piece of furniture. When it missed, sliding to the floor, he simply shrugged and headed towards the kitchen. 'I actually have an iron,' he said over his shoulder. 'Wilson left it here after he finally got his own place a few months ago. I think he was trying to tell me something.'

'Can't imagine what,' she muttered, and trailed after him - though only once she'd picked up the fallen shirt, given it a shake, and left it over the arm of the sofa.

In the kitchen he was standing against the centre island over a half-eaten pizza, munching on a slice. He shoved the open box towards her. She waved him off.

'Thanks, I've eaten.' As she watched, he picked off a piece of sausage and turned to poke it through the bars of the rat cage. 'That's hygienic.'

'Planning on extending your reign of terror to my humble abode? This isn't hospital grounds - I can make out with the damn rat if I want.'

'Look, I know I've been a little...'

'Insane? Loopy? Batshit-crazy?'

'_Erratic_.'

'Potato, potahto.' He shrugged unconcernedly and took another bite of pizza.

'You're just going to have to give me a break. Much like the many, many times over the years I've done the same for you.'

'The problem with that is, you're the compassionate, caring authority figure. I prefer to play the callous, uncaring rogue. It's much less trouble, and it gets me way more trim.'

She made a face. He really could be disgusting sometimes. 'I didn't come here to -'

'We both know why you came.'

She waited, and when he didn't elaborate on that, she sighed discontentedly. 'If you want, I'll just go, get out of your hair.'

He considered her for a moment, then shrugged. 'You don't eat my food, you don't drink my beer. You're a cheap date, I'll give you that much.'

'Really know how to flatter a girl, don't you?'

'You do my laundry, you pick up after me,' he listed off, craning his head to look out in the other room.

'One shirt?'

'It starts with a shirt, next thing you know, you're sorting through piles of my dirty socks in a little French maid outfit.' He paused, staring off into space. 'I just went to the happiest place.'

'Well I hope you took a mental picture,' she drawled, 'Because that is never going to happen.'

He shook his head. 'It's a nesting instinct. You won't be able to help yourself.'

'And where exactly does the French maid thing come in?'

'It doesn't. It'd just be really hot.'

'Never going to happen,' she repeated.

'You can keep telling yourself that, sure.'

She shook her head, sobering suddenly. 'And what if I don't have a nesting instinct? I'm starting to think I might not be very good at this motherhood thing.' She looked away with a self-conscious laugh.

'Here we go.' He raised his eyes to the ceiling. 'When did I give you the idea I could care less about your emotional issues? Never should have let you in, even if you are going to put out.'

'Hey,' she started to protest, but in one fluid move he tossed his pizza crust back in the box, turned, hooked a finger in the belt loop of her jeans and yanked her towards him.

'You know you are, no point denying it.' He was smug and over-confident, and she put up her hands to push him away but then he was kissing her.

His hands were still greasy and his mouth was pizza-flavoured and he was being such an ass - it should have been disgusting. But there was clearly something very wrong with her, because it was anything but. Her hands moved from his chest to make fists in his hair and she found herself pulling him closer, the kiss turning into as much a battle as an embrace.

'Come on,' he said, moving his hand from her ass to grab her wrist. 'I'd throw you down right here, but Steve's watching and I don't think it'd be good for his mental health.'

'You have really bad garlic breath, you know,' she complained, even as she let him pull her along.

'I'll brush my teeth later, Mom.'

She glared at the back of his head, annoyed as hell but at the same time more than a little turned on. When they reached the bedroom she pulled out of his grasp. 'So I think I remember you saying something about liking it when I order you around. Well how about this for an order - lie down, and shut up for once in your life.' She gave him a push towards the bed. He went down willingly, smirking the whole time.

'Yes Ma'am,' he said.

xxxxx

She was stretched out on her stomach, hugging a pillow, enjoying the sleepy, sated feeling of a nice afterglow. She sighed, listening to the sound of him moving around out in the other rooms, turning off lights, using the bathroom, until he reappeared in the doorway.

He spoke casually. 'You spending the night?'

Well she sure as hell wasn't moving, she thought. It was the weekend - she didn't have to be practical tonight. All that came out, though, was, 'It's Saturday.'

'Sunday, now.'

'Whatever,' she mumbled. With her eyes closed she could still tell when he turned out one last light, sending the bedroom into darkness, and then when he lowered himself onto the bed. Another moment passed as the mattress dipped and he arranged himself and the bedclothes to his satisfaction.

Then there was silence, broken only by the sound of quiet breathing. She felt herself falling towards sleep and the next thing she knew...

It was early morning and when she opened her eyes she lay still for a while, taking in her surroundings. This was the first time she'd woken up in House's bed after spending the night. Beside her he was still asleep, sprawled out across the mattress, his long frame taking up most of the bed, leaving her over against the edge in danger of falling off. He obviously wasn't used to sharing, she noted with a wry smile that turned into a yawn.

She shifted and stretched a little, put a hand to her stomach and considered how she was feeling, as she did every morning now. A little queasy, she decided, but not too bad. Of course it would be worse once she got up. Being Sunday, however, she didn't actually have to get up. And it was nice and cosy, if not exactly spacious, here in bed, and she found herself dozing off again after a while.

The next time she woke up House was still taking up the whole bed, only this time he was stretched out on his back, his mouth open wide, and was snoring. She snickered softly to herself, and wondered briefly if he had a video recorder stashed around the place somewhere - footage like this would make for good blackmail material.

There was no going back to sleep now - she was wide awake and he was making too much noise, anyway - so she eased herself up slowly, taking her time to avoid a head-rush.

A few minutes later she was in the shower, just standing and letting the water run over her head and down her back, leaning with one forearm against the tile. It was warm and soothing and peaceful - until the door opened and House entered unannounced.

'Good morning,' she called after a moment when he hadn't said anything.

His gruff reply was muffled by the sound of the water running and what she assumed was a toothbrush. She had to move out of the spray in a hurry then, as it suddenly ran hot. 'Hey,' she protested, poking her head around the shower door. 'I'm getting scalded, do you mind?' As she watched he shrugged and turned off the faucet and she turned back to test the water gingerly with her hand as it slowly returned to a more reasonable temperature.

The next thing she knew he was stepping in behind her, crowding her in the small space and then physically moving her out of the way with an arm around her middle. 'Gotta rinse,' he said by way of explanation as he angled himself under the shower head and opened his mouth.

He spat a mouthful of foam and water and she moved her foot out of the way just in time. 'This isn't a very big shower, you know,' she pointed out.

His arm around her waist holding her in place, he deposited his toothbrush on the shelf next to the shampoo and then turned his attention to her, his hands moving up her ribcage to cover her breasts.

'All the better to feel you up,' he replied.

She laughed softly, leaning back against his chest. 'House,' she murmured.

'Can't help it,' he spoke in her ear, 'Even with this pasty-face morning sickness thing going, you've still got a slammin' bod.'

She sighed, the warmth of the water a pleasant counterpoint to the warmth of his body pressed against hers and his hands as they explored. 'Well, enjoy it while it lasts.'

'It's almost criminal. Weight gain and stretch marks... the inevitable sagging...'

'I guess I'm assuming it'll be worth it.'

'And even if it isn't, there's always plastic surgery to fall back on.'

'You always go for the easy answer.'

'You think suffering is always noble? Sometimes it's just stupid. Sometimes it's just stubborn refusal to accept reality.'

'Well you're the genius, I guess.'

'Could be I'm the voice of experience. Could be I'm just well-adjusted.'

'Right. I'm the mental case,' she drawled, turning to face him. He ran his hands up over her hair, tipping her head back under the spray, and lowered his face to kiss her, once, lightly.

She turned her face down again, leaning into his shoulder and wrapping her arms around his waist. Even as he continued to touch her, hands sliding over her slick skin, it wasn't about sex. Or it was, but there was no urgency to it, just the unspoken fact hanging between them that it wasn't going to happen now, not when standing-up-in-the-shower sex wasn't possible. It was tempered, though, by the knowledge that it was Sunday morning and there was no rush, they could crawl back into bed for as long as they wanted.

It was an almost achingly intimate moment, possibly even more so than their purely sexual encounters. She enjoyed it for one breath, two, with the shower beating down, muting sounds, keeping everything warm and wet, until it started to be too much. She reached up to kiss him again, surprising him with the suddenness of it, but he soon responded and she reached behind her blindly to turn off the water.

xxxxx

She woke from another short catnap to find him sitting up against the headboard, playing idly with the ends of her still-damp hair.

'It's shorter, isn't it,' he said when she looked up at him.

She blinked at him, still not quite awake. 'I... had a haircut yesterday.' As she moved to sit up next to him, pulling the covers up with her, he shook a box of cereal at her.

'Breakfast?'

She glanced at the clock on the nightstand, it was past eleven. Then she took the box from him, if only to stop him rattling it under her nose. 'You never did progress much beyond grade school, did you?'

'What?'

'Cheerios?'

He shrugged. 'I was all out of Froot Loops.'

She stifled a snort of amusement. This was just how her relationship with him was going to progress, she realised - wisecracks and crumbs in the bed. Not that it was a relationship, she reminded herself. But if not, then what was it? No, they'd agreed, it wasn't a relationship, but it was as close as she'd come for longer than she cared to think about.

It was a depressing thought, and she tried to take her mind off it by digging her hand into the box and pulling out a small handful. Uncivilised as it was, it was possible he'd put more thought into it than simply whatever was easiest to grab from the kitchen - dry cereal was actually food she could stomach, after all. She dropped a few Cheerios in a her mouth - sweet, bland, crunchy. It was children's cereal, and, coincidentally, typical bachelor fare. The kind of thing she wouldn't normally touch.

Froot Loops and Cheerios - this was her future. It all seemed so foreign, what was to come - the bedtime stories and milk moustaches, birthday parties and report cards.

'I never wanted kids, you know,' she said soberly.

'I never wanted a lot of things,' he huffed.

'I mean I guess I had this idea that someday I'd probably get married and start a family - but if having a baby was something I really wanted to do, I would have made it happen no matter what my circumstances, wouldn't I? Which means I never _really_ wanted to.'

'Wanted to enough, obviously.'

'I guess I didn't know just how much until the choice was thrown in my lap. So to speak.'

'And you made it. Well done. Did you want a round of applause?'

'I didn't give you a say in the matter,' she pointed out.

He gave her an irritated look and took back the cereal box. 'You're doing what you want to do, and since I don't see your father standing behind me with a shotgun, I'm doing what I want to do. The end.'

It was true, she had told him outright that he could walk away, wash his hands of the whole matter. He had chosen not to, in a non-committal sort of way. And now here they were, and suddenly she wanted him to be less vague. Her hand moved to her stomach. 'So you do want this? The baby?'

He didn't reply straight away. 'I can't give you the answer you're looking for.'

'You don't know what I'm looking for,' she began, but further protests died on her lips, because maybe he did know. She found herself backing down, annoyed at herself and him. 'I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked.' But it was too late, he was more than willing to tell her.

'You want that picture in your head of a perfect little family - the one that'll tell you when everything's just the way it's supposed to be. And you're trying to stick me into that image, the one marked 'daddy dearest'. Now hands up everyone who thinks that's going to work out well,' he sneered.

She was shaking her head at him. 'You're so wrong, that's not what I'm doing at all. If I wanted a 'perfect little family' I wouldn't be stupid enough to think I could have that with you. No, I know exactly what I want from you, House - and since I already got what I came for,' she spread her hands and shrugged, 'I think I'll be going now.'

'No, please stay, we're having such a swell time.'

She ignored him as she threw back the covers and stalked around the room gathering up her clothes, not particularly caring that he was staring at her the whole time. Let him, she thought. Let him get a good eyeful, because he wasn't going to be seeing it again any time soon.

'Got a busy day ahead of you?' he inquired with mock politeness as she dressed hurriedly. 'Of course you do - places to go, people to see...'

'I was planning on meeting some friends for coffee later on, if that's what you mean. I know this might come as a surprise to you, but most people actually have friends, and that's plural, as in more than one.'

'So, Miss Social Butterfly,' he said next, speaking around a mouthful of cereal, 'What do you tell them when you're not actually drinking coffee?'

'That I happen to like herbal tea? Why do you care?'

'Whatever big fat lie works for you.'

'It's the truth - but so what if I lie occasionally, when I have to - in this case to protect my privacy?' she demanded as she shoved her legs into her jeans. 'You'll lie through your teeth for absolutely no good reason at all, just for the hell of it. I don't see where you get off preaching to me about it.'

'I don't - why would I care what you tell your little working girl's sewing circle? But you obviously do care, or you wouldn't have gotten so defensive. Did I hit a nerve?'

'Oh, very astute. Who'd ever think I wouldn't like lying to people I care about, people who expect better from me? And there's another difference between me and you - no one who knows you would ever dream of expecting more from you. And god forbid you ever surprise any of us.'

With that she grabbed her shoes and left the room, stopping by the front door just long enough to shove them on her feet. He didn't come out after her. But then, it wasn't as if she expected him to.


	15. Life's Little Ups and Downs

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

xxxxx

CHAPTER FIFTEEN - Life's Little Ups and Downs

xxxxx

House was bored. It was Monday, he didn't have a case to work on, and Wilson, who did have work to do, was actually off doing it. Cancer patients, he thought, were so inconvenient.

So he was bored, and he couldn't even kick back in his office, because although Chase was working in the clinic, and Foreman was off somewhere else - hopefully tracking down a juicy new medical mystery for him - Cameron was hanging around, answering his mail. Which meant he had to vacate the premises or else she'd be trying to get him to do the things requested of him _in_ his mail.

At a loss, he sought refuge with his one true friend. At least coma guy never hogged the remote, or talked when he was trying to watch something. He could watch his soaps in peace for once. But he found the lives and loves of television doctors weren't holding his attention the way they usually did. Which, he conceded, might have had something to do with the fact that he was dealing with a soap opera storyline all his own these days. Between accidental pregnancies and carrying on illicit affairs with sultry hospital administrators he didn't have to look to a television screen for his daily dose of melodrama.

He hadn't seen Cuddy since she'd stormed out the previous morning, which was no doubt a good thing. He didn't know what to expect from her lately - one day she was ignoring him in favour of her precious hospital, the next she was showing up on his doorstep - and he really hated that. The Cuddy he was used to was predictable, sometimes annoyingly so when he was trying to get away with something - and even then, the fact that she did, on occasion, get the better of him was something he counted on.

Ever since she'd shown up in his office with her big announcement, however, that had all changed. It was, he mused, like being on a rollercoaster in the dark - there was no way to tell which way it was going to go next, and the only thing to do was sit there and ride it out and hope the track didn't suddenly come to an end and send the car flying out into space.

Not that he was being melodramatic about it. He just liked a good allegory every once in a while.

'Hard at work, I see.'

Staring off into space actually constituted working for him at times, after all he got a lot of thinking done that way. Not this time though, but then she'd probably guessed that. He looked over at her standing in the doorway and decided he really needed to find another coma patient with a TV and private room to hang out in. Too many people knew about this one.

'Can we talk?' she said

Apparently they could, since she came in and closed the door without waiting for an answer. Maybe, he thought, she could carry on the entire conversation by herself and he wouldn't have to say anything.

He looked up at her, keeping his face blank.

The next words out of her mouth were, 'You were right.'

And it was a whole new ballgame - he couldn't stay quiet in the face of that.

'You were right,' he echoed. 'The three little words every man wants to hear. So, do tell me, what was I right about? I'll give you a hint - the answer you're looking for is 'everything, you brilliant man, you'.'

She pursed her lips at him. 'You were right, I was having expectations of you.'

'Oh that. Well, the four little words every man wants to _say_ are 'I told you so'.'

'Insofar as I want you to be happy about the baby, at least,' she went on. 'But so what? I haven't forced you into anything so far - I know I can't force you into that.'

'Apology accepted.'

'I'm not apologising. In fact, I'm glad it's out in the open.' She was talking with her hands, he observed. The more she did that, the more worked up she was getting. She was pacing a little, too, turning back and forth in the small space. He watched her increasing movements with interest as she spoke. 'You know what we've been doing, don't you? We've been using sex as an avoidance tactic. We're just using each other, period.'

'That was the point, last time I checked. And since when do you mind, Miss Non-Involvement?'

'Since I realised this can't go on. It's not healthy - and I know it's not, but I'm doing it anyway because... because it's you.'

He blinked. 'It is?'

'And it isn't real. Wanting to be with you - it's just the situation. It's messing with our heads and our emotions... I'm overflowing with hormones and it's natural that I want to be close to you right now. I just can't deal with it, though. It's too much - I can't deal with it _and_ be pregnant, _and_ handle things here at work - all the while I'm facing the prospect of all this coming out, and the gossip mill running wild and having to explain to the board why I'm having _your_ baby, all the questions, and I still have -'

'Breathe!' he interjected sharply, stopping the verbal onslaught in its tracks. 'Take a breath, you're going to pass out and I'm not hauling you up off the floor if you do.'

She stared back at him unhappily, panting slightly in the aftermath of her outburst.

'Nice.' He gave her an appraising look. 'As meltdowns go, that was a good one. I'm surprised you held out this long, actually.'

'I was overdue,' she agreed ruefully. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, calming down. 'I meant it though.'

'To be honest, I blocked most of it out - I've got a natural filter that kicks in whenever you hit a certain register.' He smirked at her, she frowned at him. It could have been any exchange they'd ever had. Except that it wasn't. 'But I think I caught the part about no more sleepovers,' he continued.

'No, no more. It has to stop.'

'Have we reached the self-denial stage of the guilt cycle then? Wondered when that one was going to roll around.'

'Don't make this difficult.' She spoke quietly, her hands still at her sides. No agitation now.

He didn't like the way she was looking at him. He needed to regroup. So he let it go for now, and did what she asked - made it easy on her. 'I think I can control myself, maybe even manage to stop groping you at random,' he said. 'We'll just see if you can do the same.'

She rolled her eyes. 'Gee, I'll do my best.'

'So... this thing, you want to blame it on the hormones, right?'

'The meltdown, or the...'

'The random groping,' he clarified.

'Right. Well, that's my excuse. You don't actually have one.'

'I call sexual frustration.'

'Yes, we've already established you were only in it for the sex.' The way she was looking at him as she said it was almost affectionate. She glanced at her watch then, a clear signal.

He looked at his watch and thought, _lunchtime_.

'I should go,' she said, right on cue. 'I have a meeting. I guess I'll see you later,' she said in that same tolerant tone.

He levered himself up out of his chair and moved with her to the door, waiting till she was out in the hall before saying loudly, 'I mean it, no more booty calls! I can't keep up, I'm only human!'

He brushed past her, knowing without turning around that she was giving him her super-mega-death-glare, while up and down the corridor a few people looked on curiously. He ignored them, enjoyed the burn of Cuddy's evil eye on the back of his head. It was better than nothing, after all.

xxxxx

He was sitting outside when Wilson arrived. He sat down across from House, set down his coffee cup and tupperware lunch and raised his eyebrows at House's tray. It was, he had to admit, kind of full.

'You're not the one eating for two, you know,' Wilson pointed out.

'It's comfort food,' he replied, forking up some mashed potatoes.

'Why do you need comforting? Has Foreman been taking over the whiteboard again?'

'I've been dumped.'

Wilson paused at that. 'Dumped? By... who?'

'Cuddy,' he casually informed his confused friend around a mouthful of food. The meatloaf had definitely been a mistake but the potatoes were nothing to complain about. He chewed and waited for the reaction.

'What do you mean Cuddy dumped you? Last I heard you weren't her boyfriend, and she can't have dumped you if you're not together.'

'We were together. Well, sleeping together anyway. Whether we were together, together - actually, we never did get that straightened out.'

'And when did this start?'

'A few weeks ago.'

Wilson sat back in his chair and stared. 'I can't believe you didn't tell me about this. Again.'

'Thought you would have figured it out on your own. What kind of friend are you, can't even tell when I'm getting some on a regular basis.'

'You're right, this is all my fault. And now we've established that, can we get back to the part where you were Cuddy's boyfriend, right up until she dumped you?'

'It was weird.'

'Tell me about it. The thought of the two of you together - downright creepy, actually.'

'I was talking about when she dumped me.'

'What's so weird about that? Sounds like she came to her senses - or else you did something to her. Well, of course you must have done _something_ -'

'She said she wanted to be with me.'

'Really?' Wilson's voice betrayed real interest now.

'But then she put it all on her hormones. Said things were too complicated, and it wasn't real anyway, and that's why she was ending it.' He gave a half-shrug. 'Makes sense, she's been acting crazy lately, you've seen her.'

'Right, because no woman would ever just want to be with you,' Wilson said, his tone dry. 'Certainly not Cuddy - she couldn't possibly care about you. She only puts up with you all day, every day, and makes sure you keep your job even when you're making hers impossible. She's only known you better than almost anyone for years now, and still apparently doesn't mind sleeping with you. She only happens to be currently carrying your child, and wants you to be involved in that. You're right, what basis could there possibly be for deeper feelings on her part? It _must_ be hormones.'

'You're the worst yenta _ever_,' House declared. 'She's the one who kicked me to the curb, ergo, she's the one you should be brow-beating.'

'Want me to? I could go ply your case for you, tell her you're pining -'

'Or I could kick your ass.'

'Could you?'

'Try me.'

'I have to say, the surliness, the comfort eating - anyone would think you were actually upset about this.'

'The rumours are true - she is that good in bed. I'm especially going to miss that thing she does with her m-'

'And now that I've called you on it, you're going to evade with some disgusting remark that isn't even true.'

'I'd hardly have to make up anything about Cuddy's sexcapades - got enough dirty little factoids to fill up every bathroom wall in this place.'

'You know I hate to say I told you so...'

'Then don't. It's such a cliché.'

'But I _told_ you things were going to change, didn't I? And now you like her, don't you.' It wasn't a question. He seemed so sure of himself.

Wilson wasn't looking at the big picture, however. High school terminology aside, it wasn't about whether he _liked_ her. No, what mattered was what he was willing to do about it.

He shrugged and said, 'She didn't bug me as much as I thought she would. And like I said, the sex was great - so what's not to like? In fact, you're right, go tell her I'm pining for her. Maybe I'll get a pity fuck out of it.'

'And we're back to being disgusting.' Wilson rolled his eyes.

'It's my way of hiding my pain.'

'You don't hide your pain. You make sure everyone knows about it, then you make it go away the fastest, easiest way you know how.'

'Good point.' He reached into his pocket and drew out his Vicodin. 'Now all I need is a visit to a sleazy massage parlour and I'm all set.' He washed down the pill with the last of his chocolate milk, then rose, stuffing his uneaten chips and pudding cup in his pockets for later.

Wilson was watching him go with a knowing look on his face. As far as House was concerned, Wilson could think what he liked.

He didn't need to talk about his feelings - not that he ever, ever did, of course - but he really didn't in this case. Wilson didn't get it, and Cuddy didn't either, for that matter. This was just another dip in the rollercoaster, after all. And how was he going to while away the time before it hit another lofty height? That was easy. If he couldn't screw her, he was going to screw with her.

What he had planned didn't involve a men's room wall and a permanent marker, no, but it was going to be fun nonetheless.

xxxxx

When he arrived home it wasn't even six, which was one of the benefits of a work-free day. He made himself a sandwich and sat at his computer for a while, updating his netflix list and ordering groceries, among other things. Then he changed Steve's water and fed him. Threw some clothes in the washing machine. Basically he did anything he could think of to avoid doing what he'd already decided he _was_ going to do tonight. If only he wasn't so busy.

When he found himself alphabetising his CD collection by genre, he realised things had gone too far. This was what Cuddy's CDs probably looked like - only with a lot more Enya and Shania Twain - and that was just plain sad.

He dropped Purple Rain and, with an air of determination he still wasn't entirely feeling, he went and got the phone and settled down with it on the couch. He dialled a number he'd known for years, and listened as it rang once, twice, three times, until finally someone picked up.

'Hi Mom,' he said. 'No, there's nothing wrong - I'm fine. Though I appreciate the thinly veiled criticism that I wouldn't be calling just to say hi. Because I'm not, actually. There's something I have to tell you...'


	16. Hospital Politics

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

xxxxx

CHAPTER SIXTEEN - Hospital Politics

xxxxx

Wilson stepped off the elevator and headed for Cuddy's office. House had never actually made him promise not to talk to Cuddy about the situation, and so he actually thought he was doing well by waiting a whole day to track her down. Reaching the first set of doors, he moved through them and headed for the second.

'Excuse me?' a voice greeted him. He stopped in his tracks and looked over at the assistant's desk, which usually stood empty but today was occupied by an older black woman peering sternly at him over the top of her glasses. 'Do you have an appointment?'

'Ah... I was just going to see if she had a minute.' He gestured hesitantly towards the inner office. The stare was unnerving. 'I'm Dr Wilson?' he tried, chancing a glance into the office beyond through the glass panelled doors to see if he could get Cuddy's attention. And help.

He looked back to see the woman holding up a finger at him warningly. 'Just you wait there a moment, please. Dr Cuddy is a busy woman - she doesn't need people bursting in on her all the time.' With her other hand she reached for the phone. 'Dr Cuddy? There's a 'Dr Wilson' out here -'

He looked back through the doors and this time Cuddy was looking up at him, waving him in.

'Dr Cuddy will see you,' the same suspicious tone followed him as he went in.

'New assistant?' he said once the door was closed firmly behind him.

'Yes, that's Marla, she just started today.'

'She seems...' he searched for something diplomatic and finally settled on, 'Scary.'

'She's great, isn't she? I've been hiring all these young go-getters and yes, if you want to get into the psychology, it's probably because they remind me of myself at that age, but as it turns out, they're not terribly reliable. They're out of here the first time they see blood, or have to deal with the parents of a child who's just died -'

'Wimps.'

'Exactly.' She grinned. 'I needed someone with a little more staying power.'

'She seems like a good choice, then.'

'I think so. Now -?' she looked at him expectantly.

'I was just wondering if you wanted to get some lunch.'

Cuddy raised an eyebrow, immediately suspicious. 'Do I want to know where your usual lunch date is?'

Wilson shrugged. 'I just thought we could talk.'

'About?'

'The... weather?'

'Oh, very convincing.'

He smiled unabashedly - she knew exactly what he wanted to talk about, and he knew she knew. There was little point in pretending. 'You have to eat sometime,' he pointed out.

She rolled her eyes. 'All right,' she said, getting to her feet. 'Let's get this over with.'

xxxxx

'So how are you?' he asked once they were seated in the cafeteria.

'Looking forward to eating normal food again,' she replied, looking down at her tray which held a salad and a jello cup. Neither of which she seemed to find particularly appetising.

'Eleven weeks, right?'

She nodded, taking a casual look around. They were seated close enough that they could keep their voices low and no one at the surrounding tables would hear. 'I've been meaning to talk to you, actually,' she said. 'I'm counting on your support over the next few weeks - I'll be informing the board of my condition, and while I don't expect any _overt_ problems...' she trailed off discreetly.

She didn't need to elaborate. The hospital was like any other large business or organisation, there were always political manoeuvrings going on in the upper ranks. He knew she was worried about those who might use the situation to their own advantage - and she was right to do so. It didn't really matter that she was well thought of, or that she was good at her job. Her position was a prestigious one, and that meant she was a target.

'Of course,' he replied. 'Just tell me how I can help.'

'The problem isn't - I mean I'm fairly well-versed in our current guidelines, seeing as how I helped write them, and I can't be fired for being pregnant, of course. The problem is how this is going to be perceived, especially once it comes out about House.' She shrugged helplessly, her expression chagrined.

It was a familiar response when the topic was House.

Wilson considered Cuddy a friend, and knew she returned the sentiment, but more than anything else the factor that brought them together time and again was House. It was why he'd sought her out and asked her to lunch, after all. He was glad she'd introduced the subject - now he didn't have to.

'So what's our cover story?' he said in a conspiratorial tone he knew she would appreciate.

She gave him an amused look. 'Well as far as I'm concerned it isn't anyone's business - it shouldn't be, anyway. But since that will never fly, I'm planning on telling anyone that asks the truth - a novel idea, I know.' She shrugged. 'But I'll just tell the truth, that he's the father, but that we're not together.'

The way she worded her answer gave him pause. 'Did you break up with him just so you could say that and have it be the truth?' He gave voice to the thought without really considering whether it was wise. From the look on her face, it wasn't.

Her tone was equally steely. 'Wow. I'm going to assume there's a reason you have the nerve to ask me something like that.'

'I... apologise. That was out of line.'

'Yes it was. What's going on, James? Did House send you to talk to me?'

'He warned me off coming, actually. Though knowing him, he probably suspected I wasn't going to listen.'

She leaned towards him then, elbows resting on the table. 'Listen, I don't know what he told you about what happened but I didn't 'break up' with him, it's not like we were dating.'

'Really? I got the impression -'

'What?' she demanded.

'I don't know - he's impossible, you know that. I just got the impression there was more going on. Maybe.'

'You're not seriously going to try to tell me he's heartbroken, are you?'

'Come on,' he said, 'You _know_ him. You _know_ how he is with women -'

'Yes I do, but I'm not Stacy. This is an entirely different situation.'

'That doesn't mean it's not affecting him. All of this.'

'Well if he's going through anything like what I am, then I sympathise. But I can't be worrying about House's mental state at the moment. I'm trying to get my own life under control. I know, that sounds selfish...' She looked away, her tone and face tight now with guilt, and it was this that made him back down.

He got protective sometimes - over-protective, perhaps. He'd seen his friend get hurt before. But Cuddy cared about House too, he knew that. Hounding her about the situation wasn't going to help matters - and that was really more of a House thing to do, anyway.

'Well you are actually allowed to be selfish sometimes, you know,' he pointed out gently.

'Am I?'

'Especially now.'

She scoffed a little and spoke wryly. 'I'll try to remember that. Anyway, it's not like House hasn't got you looking out for him. Rather enthusiastically, I might add.'

'I just don't think he's even begun to deal with any of this.'

'No, he hasn't. I haven't really either, that's what I'm trying to do. It's why I had to step back.' She sighed, rubbing her forehead. 'I'm doing my best, here James.'

'I didn't mean to imply that you weren't. I just think we need to be prepared. Knowing House, he's probably going to...' He waved a hand vaguely, and she filled in the rest.

'Act out in some extremely inappropriate, self-destructive way?'

'That would be my guess, yes.'

She sighed. 'You'll keep an eye on him?'

He matched her sigh with one of his own, because didn't he always? He was about to say something to that effect when he spotted someone across the room. 'Oh no.' He hunched down in his chair a little, in the vain hope that they wouldn't be spotted.

Cuddy turned to look, rolling her eyes as she saw House making his way towards them.

'So there I was,' he said once he was standing over them, 'Minding my own business, when I had the strangest feeling - kind of like my ears were burning. Weird, huh?'

'I think they make a cream for that,' Cuddy said dryly, looking resigned as House dragged an unoccupied chair away from a nearby table of med students who may or may not have been using it - none of them dared protest. He pulled it up and sat, focusing on Wilson.

'Whatever she's been telling you, I swear I was only using her for sex. She means nothing to me.'

'Oh, gay jokes,' he deadpanned. 'Perfect.'

'You know you're the only girl for me.'

'Aren't you the lucky one,' Cuddy drawled.

Both of them were addressing him, and pointedly ignoring each other. Wilson suddenly found himself looking back and forth between them like he was watching a tennis match. It would have been amusing - if he wasn't the one caught in the middle.

'Fag-hag's a good look for her, don't you think?' House tossed his head in her direction.

Cuddy raised an eyebrow, casually toying with her salad fork. 'If you ask me someone's feeling a little bitter.'

'She's got the desperation down already. Goes with the wardrobe. Watch she doesn't scratch your eyes out, though - she looks like the jealous type.'

'Yes, I don't know what I was thinking, letting _that_ one get away. What a catch.'

Wilson held up his hands. 'Okay, stop,' he ordered. 'The two of you are making me very uncomfortable.'

They stopped. It had to be some kind of miracle, Wilson thought, watching as their eyes finally deigned to meet across the table. They sized each other up for a moment, before House's eyes dropped.

'Going to eat that?'

She followed his gaze down to her jello, which she immediately picked up along with a spoon. 'Yes,' she replied firmly.

House just shrugged, and reached over to pull Wilson's plate of fries towards himself instead.

Wilson sighed as they both began to eat without another word. It was an improvement of sorts - at least if they couldn't be civil, they were being quiet.

It was weird, seeing them together like this. There'd always been tension there, the two of them at odds more often than not, and Wilson had often gotten the impression there might be more to it. Now it was as if what had previously only been hinted at was suddenly all right out in the open for anyone to see. It was, well, it was weird, he decided.

He took in his companions once more - Cuddy with her jello, House devouring his appropriated fries, and the tension, like a fourth presence at the table, hovering there between them.

'So,' Wilson said into the lengthening silence. 'Anyone read any good books lately?'


	17. The Joy of Motherhood

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

xxxxx

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - The Joy of Motherhood

xxxxx

It was another slow day. Lunchtime was coming on, thankfully, and he was sitting in his lounge chair watching television and thinking about possibly heading off-campus for a cheeseburger. Or else sending Chase out instead, since it was looking like rain. That was when Cuddy came in with a look on her face like he was in trouble - not big trouble, though, this was about a force two on the Cranky-Cuddy scale, he decided.

She drew in a breath to speak but he held up a hand. 'Wait, don't say anything.'

She paused and looked around. 'What?'

'Nothing, I'm just picturing you naked. It's a lot easier if you're not talking.'

That earned him an eye-roll before she started in. 'Do you have any idea,' she said, 'Who I just got off the phone with?' She provided her own answer before he could jump in with a suitably witty response. 'Your mother.'

'My mother? Oh, that's right, she did mention something about getting in touch with you. Must have slipped my mind.'

'She said you gave her my number and encouraged her to call.'

And he'd been starting to wonder if she was going to. He shouldn't have doubted her - his mother never passed up an opportunity to reach out to people, all that touchy-feely crap. Keeping his expression innocent he wondered, 'Should I not have done that?'

She threw up her hands. 'You couldn't have warned me? No, of course you couldn't - look who I'm talking to. Thanks a lot - I had no idea what to say.'

'Awkward?'

'Oh no, we had a lovely chat. Really bonded. Apparently you had very wide shoulders when you were born,' she said dryly.

'So she's told me many times.'

'Well good then, apparently I have something to look forward to.'

'That, and being able to hold it over the kid's head their whole life.' He shrugged. 'One of the joys of motherhood, I guess.'

Her expression softened a little. 'She seemed quite happy about it.'

'They both are, she and my dad. They were starting to give up hope of ever getting a grandchild out of me.'

She shifted then, arms at her side moving to cross over her chest. She was uncomfortable, he thought.

'What did you tell them about - us, about me?'

He shrugged and said simply, 'The truth.' Her eyes widened at that. 'I've told you before, I can't lie to my mother. So I told her the truth.'

'And what's the truth?'

He smirked. 'Isn't that the sixty-four thousand dollar question?'

She frowned, no doubt realising he wasn't going to make it easy - not this time. 'I'm surprised you told them at all. Maybe you're making progress.'

'Oh I definitely am. It's the good example you're setting - just being around you, I can't help becoming a more open, honest person. Pull up a chair, we can talk, share our feelings. Hold hands and cry.'

'Then again, maybe not,' she drawled, and cast her eyes to the ceiling. 'So do I need to be on the look-out for any more surprises?'

'Well I wouldn't be _too_ shocked if my dad shows up with a shotgun - for you that is. He's old fashioned, thinks you should marry me. I told him you weren't that kind of girl.'

'Crazy enough to take you on? You're right, I'm not that kind of girl.' She smiled then at her own snappy comeback, and he let her have it. She had to get one in once in a while.

Then she said something about him doing some work for a change, at which point he had to tune out. Besides, as he informed her, he was officially on his lunch break as of five minutes ago. She settled for giving him a Look before departing.

He smiled as she turned and left - and not just at the view. This exchange with Cuddy was just what he'd been waiting for. So apparently she didn't mind his parents getting involved. He had to wonder whether that worked both ways.

Planting his cane on the floor he levered himself up and moved over to his desk where he reached for the phone and dialled. It rang twice before an answering machine picked up. He listened for the beep and spoke, injecting into his tone what he hoped was just the right amount of eager sincerity.

'Mrs Cuddy, this is Greg House here, I'm sure Lisa's mentioned me. I was just hoping we could talk - Lisa and I are so happy about the baby and it's only right that our families get to know one another. So feel free to call me anytime.' He left his number and hung up, and sat back with a smile to wait. It would only be a matter of time.

xxxxx

The day dragged on.

He'd left his PSP charger at home so he couldn't play any games, and his yo-yo and ball were really more for when he had some deep thinking to do. So he found himself propped in the doorway between his office and the conference room with a book of crossword puzzles he'd swiped from Chase.

'Five letters, 'fifth century invader of Britain'. Starts with an 'H'. Come on Foreman, you haven't gotten a single one yet. I'm starting to think you suck at this game.'

'Maybe that's because I'm not playing? Do your own damn crossword.'

'Horsa,' Cameron interjected, and they all looked over at her. 'A fifth century invader of Britain. Horsa.'

'Correct!' He wrote it in. 'So we have Foreman, still on zero, having earned my eternal disappointment. Chase with two, and Cameron in the lead with six.'

Chase groaned. 'That's not right, you're cheating aren't you? She must be cheating,' he appealed to the room.

It occurred to House that Cameron was smiling an amused little smile rather than denying it. And that she had been sitting at her desk with the computer running this whole time.

'No googling,' he directed.

She just rolled her eyes. 'Took you long enough to figure it out.'

Foreman was chuckling at Chase's indignant expression - Chase who was currently demanding a recount. House glanced over at them, then past them, just in time to see a dark cloud of fury headed their way.

'How about a five-letter word for 'screaming harridan',' he managed to get out right before Cuddy burst into the conference room.

'You son of a bitch!'

Chase, Foreman and Cameron all froze. House, even though he'd known this was coming, didn't blame them.

'Don't worry, she's talking to me,' he told them.

'Oh you bet I'm talking to you, you -'

'Harpy,' House spoke loudly, drowning her out. 'That was the five-letter word I was looking for, by the way.' He pretended to fill it in on the crossword.

'Should we -?' Chase made a hesitant gesture towards the door.

'On no, you three are definitely going to want to stay for this.' His eyes locked with Cuddy's, and he found himself smiling slightly. 'This is going to be good,' he said.

She broke his gaze, finally seeming to realise they had an audience, and strode over and gave him a shove. 'Move it,' she told him. He moved. Meanwhile she was looking down at her watch, then at the other three who were observing with interest. 'It's a quarter to five, take an early mark,' she ordered, her tone brooking no argument as she finished muscling him through the door and pulled it closed after them.

He gathered his dignity - slightly scattered by Cuddy's full-body assault, the woman was a lot stronger than she looked - and made his way over to sit at his desk. She followed close at his heels and loomed over him, arms folded across her chest.

'I just got a hysterical phone call from my mother,' she said.

'Gosh, you're popular with the parentals today, aren't you?'

'You called my mother.'

'I tried - got the answering machine. Left her a nice message, though.'

'You _called_ my _mother_.'

'Do you _realise_ you're _repeating_ yourself?'

'You told her. About -' she stopped mid-accusation, glancing over into the next room.

Foreman was already gone, but Chase and Cameron were still hanging around, taking their sweet time packing up for the day and being extremely unsubtle about the whole thing. House smirked and gave them a little wave, spurring them into action. Then he looked back up at Cuddy, feigning surprise. 'You mean she didn't know?'

'Don't play dumb,' she hissed. 'You knew I hadn't told her yet.'

'Actually I only suspected. _Now_ I know.'

'What did you think you were doing?'

'Reaching out?' he offered. 'Opening the lines of communication, in the spirit of familial cooperation? She's going to be the grandmother of my child, you know. I thought it would be nice if we got to know one another.'

'Your child?' Her voice dropped dangerously and he noticed again the way she was always calmer, less prone to rave and rant, the more seriously angry she was.

Still, he couldn't resist responding with a flippant, 'So you keep telling me.'

'You haven't expressed one ounce of interest in _your_ child and now you think you can use it to mess with my head? You're pathetic, House. This isn't a _game_.'

'What I find interesting,' he shot back, 'Is that you hadn't shared with your own mother your wonderful news. Why is that?'

'I don't have to justify myself to you.'

'Not to me, no,' he agreed, 'Just everyone else. Your mother, the hospital board - the people whose approval you depend on most of all. But that's probably just a coincidence.'

She was shaking her head, and suddenly she was on the defensive. 'You're blowing this way out of proportion. I'm waiting till I'm safely in my second trimester to tell the whole world - it's what people do.'

'Sure,' he shrugged. 'You hit second trimester, your hCG levels even out, miscarriage rates drop significantly - a good reason not to tell the whole world till then, but your own mother?'

'It's none of your business!' she snapped, her voice rising again. 'In fact, new rule - no harassing my family members with phone calls - or emails, letters, or any other form of communication your twisted mind can come up with. If you want to piss me off, come and do it to my face.'

'That sounds like an invitation - I knew you couldn't get enough of me.'

'If you're any kind of genius you'll rethink this little trouble-making phase of yours altogether.'

'Sounds like the practical thing to do. Trouble is,' he feigned dismay, 'I've always been more book smart.'

'With social skills like yours? I never would have guessed,' she returned snarkily.

'Academic excellence is such an over-rated quality - let's hope the little tyke ends up with your ability to kiss ass and schmooze rich people out of their money, instead.'

'You want to know whose ass _you_ can kiss?'

He grinned. 'Ooh, is it yours? I was wondering when we'd get around to the make-up sex. Fun as this little scene has been -'

'Never,' she overrode him emphatically, 'That's when it's going to happen. In fact, the one thing I'm going to take away from this little stunt of yours is that I did the right thing, putting an end to... whatever it was we were doing before. Believe me, if there's one thing I'm sure of right now, it's _that_.' With that she turned on her heel and strode to the door.

'Glad I could help,' he muttered as he watched her go. Because he did so enjoy watching her go. It was even better when she was peeved - temper always added a little something extra to her stride.

He sat back once her engaging glutes were out of sight to consider what had just happened, and what he was going to do next.

It had been fun, setting it up and the resulting explosion. It was definitely worth whatever fall-out was coming his way. Cuddy wasn't the type to hold a grudge, generally - he never would have managed to hold onto his job for so long if she was - but that didn't mean she wasn't going to stay pissed at him for a few days at least, and as long as she was pissed he knew he could expect her to take it out on him.

He also knew, therefore, that it was in his best interest to stay out of her way for a while. But then, his instinct for self-preservation never had been all that strong.


	18. Confidence

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

xxxxx

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - Confidence

xxxxx

There were times when she found her job to be very rewarding. Then there were the other times. Often, these 'other times' had to do with House, and the dubious practices and general insanity that always seemed to follow in his wake. But not always.

She'd just spent the past half hour trying to talk down a patient making loud, vocal threats of legal action against the hospital, all because the diet he'd been placed on following gastric surgery didn't meet his vegan, macrobiotic needs (and thus discriminating against his belief system - not that she'd managed to establish what that actually was). In the end she'd just rustled up one of the dieticians on staff, put him in the room along with the man's doctor and told them to come up with something.

There were definitely times when it seemed like her day consisted of one trivial, tedious matter after another.

Arriving back at her office she pushed through the first set of doors and paused at her assistant's desk.

'Any calls?'

'Your mother, again,' Marla replied, handing over a stack of messages.

'Of course,' Cuddy muttered, shuffling through them as she continued into her office.

She knew her mother meant well, and she didn't blame her for being upset, but now she kept calling, wanting to know every little detail - her mother could be exhausting. There was a reason she only saw her a few times a year, limiting their contact to holidays and family affairs.

'You're starting to show, aren't you.'

She jumped, startled as his voice rang out in what she had assumed was her empty office. He was sitting on her sofa, feet on the coffee table, nose buried in a magazine that featured a scantily clad model sitting on a motorcycle on the cover.

'You've been leaving your suit jackets on more than usual. If you haven't noticed anything yet, you will soon. People are going to start talking.'

'What are you doing in here?' she asked, recovering and moving around her desk to sit. 'Did Marla let you in?'

'The new bouncer's got a sweet tooth. I snuck in while she was at the vending machines.'

'Do you actually want anything work-related? I'm not interested, otherwise.'

'I'm just saying,' he finally lowered his reading material, 'The clock is ticking. You can't put it off forever.'

'Well that's not what I'm doing,' she shrugged, 'But whatever. You can go now, I'm busy.'

He didn't move. She could feel his eyes on her, considering. 'Still pissed, huh?'

She just shook her head. He'd already gotten the big reaction out of her he wanted. She wasn't going to reward him with another. Besides, she had an ace of her own up her sleeve and that was better than yelling at him any day. 'Well,' she began, keeping her tone even and her attention on creating order out of the chaos of files and documents spread across her desk, 'Thanks to you my mother is going to be holding this over my head for the rest of my life - that she found out I was pregnant from a message a strange man left on her answering machine. But why would I be mad?' she finished dryly.

'You don't want to throw some extra clinic hours at me? Drown me in paperwork?'

'I will if you want me to,' she offered mildly, finally deigning to look up at him, though only to give him an indulgent smile.

He seemed slightly put-out as he planted his cane on the floor and pushed himself up off the couch. 'Wouldn't do it anyway,' he muttered, heading to the door.

'You are going to want to keep the twenty-third free, though,' she added as he reached for the door. He paused and looked back at her, eyebrows lifted questioningly, and she elaborated, 'That's when your parents will be arriving in town.'

He just blinked at her for a moment. 'You did not,' he denied, but she could see the uncertainty countering his usual confidence.

'You haven't talked to them today?' she asked innocently. 'I have, just this morning actually. But I'm sure they'll be calling you to confirm.' His expression was growing stormier by the second. She just kept smiling and went on, 'The 'spirit of familial cooperation', didn't you call it? We're all going to have dinner together, get to know one another, won't that be nice?'

He took a step away from the door, back towards her. 'You know I'm just going to -'

'And before you get any ideas,' she interrupted him, 'Yes my mother will be there, too - she was already threatening to come anyway. I was going to get home one day and find her camped out on my doorstep - at least this way I'm not the only one suffering. _You_ got everyone involved here,' she reminded him, her tone hardening slightly. 'You want us all to be one big happy family? Well that's what you're going to get.'

His eyes narrowed. 'Oh, it is so _on_.'

'Wait you're not upset about me going behind your back and inviting your parents to visit, are you? I thought you were all for that sort of thing.'

He rolled his eyes in disgust. 'So you figured out I wouldn't want to see my parents - that's some insight there. But here's a better one - you didn't even tell your own mother! For someone who's trying to make out how happy she is about her little bundle of joy, you haven't exactly been spreading it around.'

She gave him a withering look. 'Don't even bother trying to make this about my issues - this is about you not being able to ever leave anything alone. Well payback's a bitch, isn't it?'

'Payback's not the only one.'

She laughed. 'What are you going to do? Throw a temper tantrum? I think you should go now, House, try and maintain some dignity.'

He ignored her last comment, and as she watched he stepped to the side of the room, jabbing his cane towards the shelves that lined the wall.

'Remember the night you got that?' he said.

She realised he was pointing to one of the awards she kept on display. Specifically, the one she'd received the night she'd made the stellar decision to get drunk with House and take him home with her. It wasn't like she was going to forget it any time soon - and she told him so.

'Yeah, a nice story to tell the grandkids, isn't it?' he agreed in his most snide tone.

'What's your point?'

'The famous Cuddy guilt complex,' he pronounced.

She rolled her eyes. 'Oh here we go.'

'You don't want anyone knowing because you'll have to tell them about _me_. You'll have to account for your behaviour.'

'It doesn't look good,' she agreed. 'But I really think you're over-estimating how much people care who I sleep with.'

'Can't you just see it?' he mused. 'Why yes, Dr House is the father. No, of course nothing untoward or unprofessional is going on between us. I don't know, seems kind of fishy, doesn't it? That Dr Cuddy, have you seen the way she dresses? If she's sleeping with one colleague - well now we know how she got the top job so young. It's all starting to make sense.'

'You realise if I lose my position because of this, you're going to be just as screwed. There aren't many who'd put up with you the way I do. And half the time even I wonder why I bother.'

'Right now I'm just enjoying the thought of always-professional Dr Cuddy trying to come up with an excuse for her highly _un_professional behaviour. The consequences don't bother me so much. Wilson calls me self-destructive. I think he just watches too much Dr Phil.'

She sighed, impatient. Nothing he was saying was particularly revelatory, and at this point she just wanted to get rid of him. 'Look, the monthly general meeting is next Wednesday - I'll be informing the board then, all right? That was always the plan, by the way, even before you started trying to bully me into it.'

His eyes widened with interest. 'So by next Thursday...'

'Yes, everyone and their dog will know. Happy?'

He didn't answer straight away, just looked at her levelly for a moment. 'It's my dirty little secret, too.'

She frowned slightly, unsure what he meant by that. 'I'll admit I'm surprised you haven't blabbed it all over the hospital already. I guess you were keeping it up your sleeve to humiliate me with at a later date?'

He shrugged. 'In this case I'm the boy who cried wolf. I could circulate a hospital-wide memo and no one would believe me - mean old House, trying to push Cuddy's buttons. No, it has to come from you.'

'Great,' she said flatly, throwing up her hands.

'Isn't it, though?'

xxxxx

Once House was gone she took a deep breath and let it out, glad to be rid of him and his endless insights. She relied on it, his confidence, his ability to be right, to always _know_. But sometimes she almost hated him for it.

And he was wrong anyway, she decided. She wasn't putting off telling people because she was ashamed of what had happened with him. The situation wasn't ideal, no, but she couldn't change that now and no matter what House said she didn't see this baby as a 'dirty little secret'.

Besides, the truth would come out one way or another - it was best just to be upfront about things right from the beginning, and then deal with whatever fallout there was as best she could.

If she wanted to put that off as long as possible, who could blame her?

She'd just wanted some more time, that was all. Big changes were coming and everybody knowing about it was going to make it seem all the more real. Having her mother on her case was one thing - she could dodge phone calls if she had to - but the hospital was her haven. She could bury herself in her job and everything else faded into the background.

But not for much longer.

With a shake of her head she pulled the computer keyboard towards her and got back to work. She would escape while she still could.

xxxxx

Wednesday rolled around and she found herself seated at her usual place at one end of the boardroom table.

It was all she could do to keep from fidgeting nervously. Wilson, seated two places down, wasn't helping - he kept sending her looks he probably thought were supportive. If she could have reached - and if the bulky frame of the chief of surgery hadn't been in the way - she would have kicked him.

They'd been at it for over an hour when Mike Ellis, their current board chairman, took off his glasses and gestured round the table. 'Anyone else ready for a break?' he inquired casually, to general assent voiced from all sides. A muttered 'hell yes' from Dr Payne - head of psych services and the one dedicated smoker amongst them - drew a smattering of laughter as well.

This was her chance - the mood was laid-back and everyone being eager for coffee and bathroom breaks meant there wouldn't be a lot of questions. She rose hastily.

'Just before everyone runs off, I have an informal announcement to make.' She hoped her smile didn't appear as nervous as it felt as she looked down the long table at the expectant faces of her colleagues. She took a deep breath. 'Well, I'll just come right out and say it - I'm pregnant. Three months,' she added, as encouraging smiles and a few murmured congratulations were offered.

'Wonderful news, Lisa,' Mike boomed from the other end of the room.

'Thank you,' she replied graciously, but she was cringing inwardly. This was the part she was _really_ not looking forward to. Reminding herself that she never backed down from a challenge, and that this really would be better in the long run, she forged ahead. 'There's something I feel the need to add, as a courtesy to you all, and because I know how much trouble rumour and innuendo can cause in a situation like this. Dr House is the father.' She wasn't focusing on any one person but as she spoke she was aware of expressions of surprise from some, the smiles freezing on the faces of others. 'I wanted to be honest and straightforward about it - I feel I've earned your trust and confidence over the years, and I assure you I have nothing to hide. Dr House and I are not currently involved, and while that's all I'd prefer to say on the matter, if any of you have any specific concerns feel free to bring them to me and of course I'll be happy to address them.' She finished there, maintaining her clear, confident, expression as she looked around the room.

No one said a word, until finally the chairman cleared his throat. 'Well, we'll be sure to extend our congratulations to Dr House as well, then.' His tone this time was ever so slightly dry.

Smiling mildly she replied, 'I'm sure he'll appreciate it.'

There was a muffled snort of laughter from Wilson's direction at that. She purposefully didn't spare him a glance, but reminded herself to glare at him later.

Dr Payne got to his feet then, saying, 'Someone said something about a break, didn't they?'

It broke the awkward tension and others got to their feet. The smoker was already on his way out the door, stopping only momentarily to touch her elbow with a brief 'congratulations' before he was gone.

'Good job,' a voice spoke in her ear. She looked over at Wilson, who had stepped over to her side with yet another supportive smile - though this one she actually appreciated.

'Don't think I laid it on a bit thick?' she returned under her breath, keeping a smile on her face as she nodded to other board-members as they passed.

'Nah.'

'At least it's over with.' Her smile turned rueful as the two of them made their own escape from the room.

'Must feel good.'

'Actually I think I might throw up,' she returned brightly.

'Well,' he offered, 'At least now everyone will know why.'


	19. Desperate Times

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

xxxxx

CHAPTER NINETEEN - Desperate Times

xxxxx

It felt like he'd been waiting forever. It was a good thing he'd brought his yo-yo out here, because at least he had something to play with, and his jacket too, since the early evening air was chilly. He was still bored, though, yo-yo or no yo-yo.

He was perfecting 'around the world' - with little regard to the threat such a trick posed to every breakable object within reach, which in this instance was a number of windows - when finally he saw the light go on in Wilson's office. He limped over and thumped the door with the end of his cane.

'So,' he said once Wilson had joined him out on the balcony, 'These board meetings - really just twelve of you sitting around bitching out all the other doctors who don't get to sit at the cool table, right?'

'That's about it,' Wilson agreed, taking a cautious step back as a yo-yo arced dangerously towards his head. 'Your name comes up a lot, of course,' he added.

'That's just 'cause the head cheerleader's got a crush on me.'

'Apparently.'

He glanced up at Wilson's pointed reply, then looked back down at the yo-yo, now spinning in place at the end of its string. 'Did she do it?' With a flick of his wrist it sprang back up into his hand.

'She did.'

'And?'

'It... went okay, actually. She handled it like a pro - played the integrity card, appealed to their sense of loyalty...'

The yo-yo travelled its path down and then up again. 'Think it'll go any further?'

'Formally? I doubt anyone will have the nerve to go up against her.'

'She's good.'

'She is.'

'Of course, informally you're all just a pack of strays who'll turn on the top dog at the first sign of weakness.'

Wilson's tone took on a bemused air. 'You're worried about her.'

'I'm worried about _me_ - I am involved in this, remember. _She_ is my mortal enemy. War has been declared. An epic battle between the forces of good and evil is going down right here in our humble little hospital.' Wilson just looked at him, nonplussed. 'My parents are coming to visit and it's all her fault,' he elaborated.

'So you've told me.'

'Mentioned it, have I?'

'Several times,' Wilson replied. 'A day. Going on a week now so that I really wish you'd just shut up about it.'

'You're supposed to be on my side.'

'You're supposed to be a genius, not a complete idiot, and yet,' Wilson held up his hands with a shrug. 'You brought this on yourself, you know.'

'Sure, blame the victim.' He turned and leaned over the side of the balcony, played with the yo-yo some more, letting it hang out into space. 'I've been thinking about it though - it's not like they're coming to see me. They want to make nice with Cuddy, ensure their visiting rights, touch the sacred belly - I don't actually need to be present for any of that stuff.'

'House,' Wilson began warningly.

'Not like they'd notice if I happened to skip town and wind up in, oh I don't know, Tijuana,' he mused.

'Mexico - but that's still in the same hemisphere as your parents,' Wilson exclaimed mockingly, 'Surely that's not far enough away.'

'Got great hookers south of the border,' he pointed out, because really, wasn't that reason enough?

'You and whatever STDs you pick up will have to come back eventually. And then Cuddy will kill you. And haven't you pissed her off enough already for one lifetime?'

'Who can say when enough is enough?' he wondered philosophically.

Wilson was silent for a moment. 'You're not going anywhere and you know it. It would hurt your mom's feelings for one, and even you try not to do that.'

'It's not just my mom - it's _him_ too. And we're all going out to dinner, and Cuddy's bringing _her_ mother and all of us together talking about how wonderful it all is - it's going to be excruciating. And I don't know if you've noticed but I don't do well with pain.'

'You told them, brought them into this. Part of you must want them involved.'

'They can be as involved as they want, as long as they leave me out of it.'

Wilson took up a similar position next to him. 'How can you still be like this? I know fatherhood is a big thing but I would have thought even you would have gotten used to the idea by now.'

'Vive la résistance.' He waved an imaginary flag in the air.

'Does Cuddy know you're still so... skittish?'

'Like she's doing so much better,' he scoffed.

'Oh so it's like a competition - very mature. You've both been dealing with this for a while now, this isn't new stuff.'

'Yeah, but the way we used to deal with it was by sleeping together. We're not even doing that anymore.'

'You're definitely not right now? It's hard to keep track.'

'Tell me about it.'

'Maybe you could try just... talking to her, without the jumping into bed part. _Or_ the pissing her off part. Seriously,' Wilson pressed, 'It would make a nice change. I think she'd appreciate it.'

'And yet,' he held up his hands, mimicking Wilson's previous gesture. 'I just don't see it happening, somehow. That would be conspiring with the enemy. People get shot for that.'

'I mentioned you're an idiot, right?'

'At least I've got my health. Oh, wait...' Wilson just rolled his eyes. House smirked, and pushed himself up, shoving the yo-yo into a pocket and taking up his cane again. 'You can continue your 'insult the cripple' game over dinner. You're taking me someplace nice.'

'I am?'

'Or I'll sic the PC police on your ass,' he threatened, and headed back inside.

Behind him, Wilson followed with a resigned mutter. 'Because they haven't been after you for years...'

xxxxx

The next morning he got in to work on time - or more on time than usual. He was in the middle of a case and wanted to know of any developments overnight. Though since there hadn't been any phone calls waking him at three am he assumed the patient was still alive, at least.

He made his way from the front entrance over to the elevators, keeping his head down. He didn't know what he was expecting. Maybe for the whole bustling foyer to come to a screeching halt while everyone stopped and stared. That didn't exactly happen, though as he hit the up button and stood there waiting he was fairly sure that was a speculative look one of the receptionists at the front desk had just thrown his way.

The elevator finally arrived and upon reaching the fourth floor he approached his office warily. He could see the three of them gathered around the conference table, in the middle of what seemed to be a heated debate. As soon as they noticed him entering his office the talking stopped and he could feel their eyes boring holes in his back as he dumped his helmet and jacket. A short burst of furious whispering had started up again by the time he pulled open the connecting door. He ignored them and headed straight over to the coffee machine.

'Is it true?' Cameron demanded of the back of his head.

'Yes, it's true,' he announced, 'Shoe size really does relate to penis size.' He tapped the side of his sneaker with his cane. 'Thirteens, in case you hadn't noticed.' Mug in hand he turned, propped a hip against the counter, and took in their expressions as he idly stirred sugar into his coffee. Cameron's face showed distaste, Foreman's disapproval, while Chase was hiding a smirk. 'You want a better answer,' he went on, 'Ask a better question. Or here's a nutty idea, our patient? Anyone dropped by to see her this morning?'

'Her vitals picked up overnight, she seems to be responding to the antibiotics, do you really not know what I'm talking about?' Cameron switched topics mid-sentence.

'He knows,' Chase said, 'He's just messing with you.'

'If it's just a crazy rumour, he might not have heard,' Cameron replied.

'Since when is House the last to know about anything?'

Foreman rolled his eyes and addressed House directly - it was nice that one of them at least remembered he was in the room. 'Apparently Dr Cuddy is pregnant and people are saying you're her baby-daddy. We thought maybe you'd like to comment on the situation?'

Foreman, he thought, was enjoying this just a bit too much. He took a slow sip, enjoying the caffeine almost as much as the way they were hanging on his next words. 'So,' he said casually, 'There's a bun in Cuddy's oven and everyone thinks I rolled the dough? Nice.'

'It's _not_ true, then?' Cameron persisted.

He cocked his head to one side, considering her. 'What do you think?'

She didn't respond. Chase, however, was happy to. 'It's almost too crazy not to be true. Although it is pretty damn crazy, so -'

'The fact that he's hedging actually lends credence to the rumour,' Foreman reasoned. 'If it wasn't true, he'd be telling everyone it was.'

Cameron frowned. 'This is hardly something to joke about.'

'You're just _hoping_ it's not true,' Chase pointed out.

'A yea vote from Foreman, nay vote from Cameron, and Chase is sitting, oh-so-pretty, on the fence - no surprises there. Does it not bother any of you, being so predictable? Have I taught you nothing?'

'You could just tell us, instead of stringing us along,' Cameron said. She was getting pissy now.

Foreman spoke up again. 'But where would be the fun in that? He's not going to confirm or deny. We're not the only predictable ones,' he finished pointedly.

'You are, however, the only ones who can be fired at my slightest whim. Our patient - remember her?' They looked back at him dumbly. 'I'll take that glaring silence as a yes. Cameron, when are those cultures done?'

'They need another few hours.'

'Well until we can confirm the diagnosis, 'seems to be responding to the antibiotics' just doesn't work for me. And probably not for young Becky either.'

'Becky?' Chase asked.

'Betty?' he tried again. 'Billie?'

'Rhonda,' Cameron supplied.

'So close! Well let's make sure we haven't been treating a secondary infection while whatever's really killing her continues to do so - that is if you three are done sitting around gossiping about the whereabouts of my genetic material.' They were at least smart enough not to reply to that, and so he rattled off a series of tests and told them to monitor Rhonda closely in case any new symptoms cropped up - all of which would have the added benefit of keeping them busy and out of his hair.

They got to their feet, Chase and Foreman heading dutifully for the door, where they paused while Cameron lingered stubbornly. He'd known she wasn't going to be put off that easily. If he'd been anyone else he might have told her just to put her out of her misery - an act of mercy more than anything. Mostly, though, he just wanted her to stop standing there, looking at him like that.

He jumped in before she could speak, knowing he didn't want to hear whatever it was she was working up the nerve to say. 'If Cuddy says I'm going to be a daddy,' he began, 'Then popular wisdom says you should believe her - unless you want to call the Dean of Medicine a big fat liar. Might not be the best career move, but you're welcome to try it. Then again, since we all know exactly how much of a problem _I'd_ have calling her a big fat liar, the fact that I'm not should also be a fairly good indicator.'

'It's true.' There was no question in her voice this time.

'Whoa.' The soft exclamation came from Chase over by the door, eloquent as ever.

House spread his hands grandly, including all three of them in his proclamation. 'Go forth ye and spread the word.'

Cameron lifted her chin. 'Congratulations,' she said quietly. Then she turned and was gone, the other two exchanging a wide-eyed look before following.

He sighed. It was going to be a long day.

xxxxx

'Cameron's looking at me like I skinned and ate the Easter bunny. Foreman's enjoying it all way too much.'

'Chase?'

'Caught between worrying about how this might affect him, and resisting the urge to high-five me.'

Wilson nodded sagely, leaning back in his chair. 'And what about you?'

That tone was really put to better use with the more pathetic of Wilson's patients, House thought. Of course, he was currently stretched out on Wilson's couch, the site of many a teary conversation and comforting hug, so maybe the oncologist was just confusing the situation.

'I'm in here, aren't I?' he replied finally. Hiding out in Wilson's office had seemed like his only resort at this point. But if he was going to get all touchy-feely then this usual place of refuge was going to lose all appeal.

Wilson, however, just responded dryly, 'You're always in here. No matter how much work I have to do.'

'Get used to it. I'm not going back out there. This place puts high school to shame - coma guy probably heard about it before morning rounds. Now I'm just that guy who knocked up the dean. I've lost all sense of identity.'

'But your sense of the dramatic - still holding firm, I see.'

'You're going to have to get my lunch from the cafeteria and bring it up to me. Or you could just give me yours.' He lifted his head, looked over at Wilson hopefully.

'Don't you have a patient?'

He let his head drop back against the armrest. 'She bores me. No projectile vomiting or convulsions or bleeding from the eyes or anything remotely interesting.'

'That's just plain inconsiderate.'

It was, though. If he had something better to think about, he wouldn't have to bother caring about this.

'It'll all blow over,' Wilson said then. 'Just give it some time. Cuddy will handle the board, and the gossip will die down eventually. And Cameron will get over it - she'll be back to making eyes at you in no time.'

'_Making eyes_ at me? Is that before or after we step out to one of those new-fangled 'moving picture' shows I keep hearing about - unless you think they're the work of the devil.'

'Fine, she'll be hittin' on that. Or whatever. I'm sorry I'm not down with the street lingo like you are.'

He smirked. 'It's a good thing I'm here. Maybe prolonged exposure to my aura of cool will start to deconstruct your geek factor.'

Suddenly there was a light knock on the door, and whatever retort Wilson had been about to make died on his lips as he called out instead, 'Come in.'

And then the door opened and Cuddy poked her head inside. 'Have you seen - oh.' She paused, catching sight of him on the couch. 'There you are.' She came in and closed the door, leaning back against it. 'Your team is looking for you. Though Foreman was the only one brave enough to ask _me_ about it. I guess they know, huh?'

'Of course they know,' he muttered. 'Everyone knows.'

'House,' Wilson prompted then, 'Your patient?'

He made a noise of frustration. 'No urgent pages. Which means they just want me to know the diagnosis has been confirmed, the patient is out of danger, and wasn't I just saying something about boring?'

She raised an eyebrow at Wilson. 'What's his problem?'

'He's withdrawn from public life. Can't stand all those accusing eyes out there.'

'I've been slandered. Plus that idiot Singh tried to hug me. This is all your fault.'

'My fault?' she said. 'You were the one after me to tell people.'

'Self-destructive, remember? I'm the last person you should be listening to.'

'Wonderful. Anyway, you can't hide out in here all day. Rhonda Maclay is doing well but you do have clinic duty this afternoon.'

He threw an arm over his face. 'Can't make it. I'm too busy plotting your demise.'

'You can't do that just as well while you're _not_ treating patients down in the clinic?'

'That's awfully close to your office. People might think I'm down there for a booty call.'

'Or, they'll think you're doing your job for once. Look, I shouldn't have to tell you this is hardly the time to be making waves.'

'But it's what I'm best at.'

There was an audible sigh. 'Just try and curb those impulses, will you? I'd appreciate it.'

He didn't answer, and then he heard the door open and close and he realised she'd gone without another word. He dropped his arm to rest across his middle and heaved a sigh of his own as he stared up at the ceiling.

An exam room, he knew, would be just as good a place to hide out as anywhere else. Just as he knew he was going to be down there, signing in, probably on time and everything. He was such a well-trained little helper monkey.

Wilson, who'd been sitting silent for a moment, cleared his throat. 'Do you want to talk about it?'

'Oh shut up,' he replied.


	20. One Week

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

xxxxx

CHAPTER TWENTY - One Week

xxxxx

Cuddy picked up her tray from in front of the cashier and made her way to an empty table across the cafeteria, bustling with the midday rush. Lunch consisted of her usual tofu salad, today accompanied by a tub of yoghurt, a banana, and orange juice. The salad looked fresh and appetising and as soon as she sat down she picked up her fork and started in with pleasure. It was so nice to have an appetite again, and she was relishing every meal - even the sometimes unappetising cafeteria food. She was just happy to be hungry, and to be able to eat without immediately wanting to throw it right back up again.

Her appetite returning wasn't the only recent change. Her stomach, once flat and trim, was definitely curving outwards now, noticeable even under the layers of her clothing. On top of that she was having to leave her jacket on all day - something House had picked up on almost the minute she'd started doing it - because she didn't particularly want anyone seeing the safety pin holding up her skirt now that the zipper wouldn't fasten all the way up anymore.

She really had made her announcement just in time - people would have started guessing on their own soon anyway.

There was always more than enough pain and suffering to go around in a hospital. People liked good news, and she'd been encountering well-wishers all over the hospital since word had started to get around. It was nice, of course it was nice - although at the same time it was impossible to be unaware of an underlying curiosity from all sides, the thing no one had the guts to come right out and ask her about.

She wasn't talking. It wasn't anyone's business, whether she and House had a strictly professional relationship or were in fact planning to follow up this baby with six more, along with a dog and a cat and a summer home in the Hamptons. If the truth actually fell somewhere in between those two extremes, well she was happy to keep that to herself, too.

House, she had been glad to find, wasn't providing any fodder for the rumour mill either. He was a private person really, his love of gossip and innuendo extending only so far as to cover everyone besides himself. The kind of attention he was getting at the moment was not the kind he liked. She didn't think he'd have to put up with it for too much longer, though. People would get used to the idea, they'd get bored with speculating, they'd find something new to gossip about - they always did.

Of course, House standing ten feet away from her in the middle of the cafeteria, arguing with Wilson about where they were going to sit, wasn't going to help matters. She rolled her eyes, watching them bicker until Wilson apparently won the dispute and headed towards her table, House following a moment later with a sour expression on his face. Wilson pulled up a chair while House dumped his tray down unceremoniously and sat opposite her.

'Wilson was just saying how nice you look today,' he said by way of greeting.

Wilson gave House a look which told her he had actually said nothing of the sort. 'You do look very nice,' he agreed hastily at her raised eyebrow.

'He particularly likes your top,' House added.

'It's a nice top.'

And now they were both smirking. She rolled her eyes at them, knowing full well it wasn't her blouse they were referring to, but the way she was filling it out. Of course, along with her waistline, other things were starting to expand. And of course, if anyone was going to point this out it was House and his trusty sidekick.

'I'd tell you both to grow up but I know a lost cause when I see one.'

'We're only trying to pay you a compliment,' House took on a wounded expression. 'It's a lovely top. Really suits you. Brings out your -'

'Eyes,' Wilson filled in quickly.

House frowned at him. 'That's not what I was going to say.'

'We know what you were going to say.' She didn't bother hiding her amused smile, nor her subsequent sigh of frustration. 'I do realise none of my clothes fit me anymore - it's not like I have a lot of time for shopping.'

House scoffed at that. 'The turn-over rate of your wardrobe tells me you usually make time, no matter how busy you are.'

'Not this weekend, I can't,' she pointed out.

This weekend, of course, was going to be spent entertaining their respective parents. He made a face at the reminder.

'I'm just concerned about the health risk you pose to the general public right now. One deep breath, those buttons start popping off - someone's going to lose an eye.'

'If you're worried about your eyes, maybe you should try averting them,' she suggested.

He shrugged. 'I'm a risk-taker.'

'You could always break out the protective goggles,' Wilson offered.

'Ooh, safety-conscious _and_ fun. I like it.'

'Both of you stop talking,' she ordered, having had more than enough of their comedy routine by now.

In the ensuing silence she calmly picked up her plastic knife and began slicing banana into her yoghurt. Anything else at this point would only have encouraged them.

xxxxx

Two days later, on Wednesday, Marla came in with her mail, which happened to include a large package sent by express delivery. Puzzled, she turned it over. It was light, and the originating address seemed to be an online store - one she'd never heard of, let alone ordered anything from.

Common sense told her how unlikely it was to be a bomb, so she opened it, only to reveal fold upon fold of garish floral-print fabric. Baffled, she held it up in front of her, having to stand to do so, it was so big. The pattern was hideous, it was the size of a tent. It was, she realised, a mumu.

House had sent her a mumu. Because of course it was House - who else?

Torn for a moment between the urge to laugh, and to track down the man and strangle him, she went with the laughing as she stuffed the voluminous dress back in its box and set it on the floor so that she could get some work done. Though later, when House showed up for clinic duty, she couldn't resist going out to the desk where he was signing in.

'I got your... present. I really just don't know how to thank you,' she drawled.

'No buttons,' he quipped, giving her the barest hint of a smile before grabbing the first patient file in the rack and heading for an exam room.

She went back to her office wondering what she was ever supposed to do with a mumu.

xxxxx

On Thursday, House accosted her outside the lecture theatre where she was about to go in and greet the latest batch of med students. He thrust a form under her nose and demanded she sign it. Which she did, after likewise demanding that the patient be fully informed of the extreme risks posed by the test House wanted to perform.

It all seemed perfectly innocuous.

Half an hour later, though, she was heading into her office and Marla was jumping up from behind her desk to stop her as she passed. The older woman reached around and pulled something off her back.

She thought she was just being paranoid - that med students on their first day were a nervous bunch, that the spattering of muffled laughter that followed her out of the room, and subsequently all the way back here, had been nothing to worry about. But no, walking around with a 'baby on board' sign taped to her back would have just that affect, she realised with chagrin.

She didn't know how he'd done it without her noticing, though no doubt it had been when he was distracting her with his complaints about the sheer idiocy of most patients and therefore the redundancy of consent forms in general. If it wasn't so irritating she might have been impressed.

'I suppose it's funny,' Marla said dubiously, clearly unamused herself, 'If you've got a really juvenile sense of humour.'

'Oh trust me,' she replied, 'He does.'

xxxxx

To round out the week she found a box sitting on her desk Friday afternoon, small and white, topped with a shiny pink bow. She eyed it warily for a moment. Again there was no indication who it was from, but there hardly needed to be.

Opening it revealed a coffee mug. She snorted as she read the words emblazoned across it in large, eye-catching print: World's Greatest MILF.

She propped her chin in one hand and stared at it for a moment.

The mumu was going to find itself stuffed in a goodwill bin very soon, but what, she wondered, was she going to do with this? She was hardly going to use it here at work. And she couldn't take it home with her mother arriving tomorrow - the woman would unerringly find it and want to know what a MILF was. But found she didn't want to just throw it out either - it was an odd sort of compliment, but a compliment nonetheless.

Coming from House, it was downright sweet.

With a wry smile she tucked the mug away in a drawer. Silly gifts and a harmless prank - she didn't know what he was up to. She just hoped that whatever House was doing, it wasn't going to carrying on over to the following night. She was nervous enough about it as it was, worrying what her mother was going to make of House - and then there were her own trepidations about seeing House's parents.

She'd met them first years ago, when House was still in the hospital recovering. And she assumed they knew of her since then only as the pain-in-the-ass boss House complained about on occasion - probably using her as a convenient excuse not to visit them. Now she was being introduced to them in a new capacity - not as doctor or supervisor, but something else entirely.

Throw House into the mix, being his usual unpredictable self - she had good reason to be nervous.

xxxxx

On Saturday it was the middle of the afternoon by the time she finally had a moment to herself. The morning had been taken up with driving out to the airport, collecting her mother and bringing her home, followed by catching up over lunch, which was really more like a session with a Grand Inquisitor. Fortunately, though, her mother hated travelling more than she loved giving her eldest daughter the third degree, and so after they'd eaten and tidied up she had retired to the guest room to take a nap.

Which gave her the chance to call House, and make sure he wasn't trying to weasel his way out of their dinner plans.

Calling his home number got her one of his creative answering machine messages. She didn't bother leaving a message, deciding to try his cell next. It was switched off, though. Before she called him back at home and left a message - on the off chance that if he was actually there, and bored enough, he might deign to answer the phone - she dialled his office number, which rang exactly once before it was picked up.

'I'll give you a thousand dollars if I don't have to go,' he barked down the line at her.

She blinked at the abrupt greeting. 'Sorry,' she managed a moment later, 'No amount of money is going to get you out of this.'

'I'll give you my first-born child.'

'House.'

'I guess that one's not going to work so well on you, is it?'

'Nothing's going to work on me. You're going, and that's final.'

'I'm bringing Wilson, then.' He changed tracks quickly. 'He'll make a great buffer. He's well-groomed and polite - parents love him.'

'You can't bring Wilson.'

'Why -'

'Because my mother already thinks this is strange enough without you bringing your boyfriend to dinner.'

'Couldn't you just tell her we're really, really good friends? My parents buy it.'

'Sometimes _I_ don't even buy it. He can't come. Now, we're meeting at seven, right?' He made a non-committal sound. She could tell he was pouting. 'Seven o'clock, House. Don't be late. And don't even think about creating some fake emergency that keeps you at the hospital. You will be there, at the restaurant, at seven. Now, did your parents get in okay?'

'They called from the hotel,' came the grudging reply. 'All body-parts and baggage accounted for.'

She frowned slightly. 'You didn't pick them up from the airport?'

'They like to be self-sufficient. Besides, I told them I was working.'

'I thought you didn't lie to your -'

'I am working. The only way I can lie to my mother is if it isn't a lie. I'm sitting here, in my office, doing paperwork okay?'

'You're kidding.' She started to laugh.

'No.'

'Wow, desperate times, huh?'

'I'm hanging up.'

'Wait, House!'

There was a moment's pause, as he no doubt decided whether or not to bring the phone back to his ear. She heard an irritated huff and then, 'What?'

'Just... please try to be nice. I know you can be nice when you want to. And it wouldn't kill you to shave.' There was more silence, through which she could practically feel the derision aimed her way pouring over the line. 'Fine,' she relented, 'Then you can at least be nice.'

'What's in it for me?'

'What? You do not need a _reason_ to be -'

'If you want me to behave myself all through dinner, a little incentive might go a long way.'

'What do you want?' she asked reluctantly, and with the distinct suspicion that she wasn't going to like his answer.

'How about _dessert_?'

She could actually hear the suggestive smirk in his voice. She made sure he could hear the disapproval in hers. 'House!'

'Seems only fair - you get dinner, then I get -'

'Pick something else.'

She could picture the smirk growing wider as he said, 'I'll let you know.'

'Hold on, I don't think -' she began to protest, but then dial tone sounded in her ear. He'd already hung up.

What, she thought, as she placed the receiver back in its cradle, had she gotten herself in for?


	21. Small Talk

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

xxxxx

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - Small Talk

xxxxx

'House? House, I know you're there.'

House lowered the volume on the television as he listened to the message currently being left on his answering machine.

'It's Sunday morning, where else are you going to be? ...Okay, you might still be asleep but even you don't usually sleep this late, so pick up will you?' There was a sigh. 'All right, I just wanted to find out how last night went, but since you're apparently not in the mood to talk right now maybe I should call Cuddy instead, because I'm sure she'll have some interesting things to say. Or, hey, your parents are still in town, aren't they? And you said they're staying at the...'

House rolled his eyes at what was fast becoming the longest answering machine message of all time, and finally reached over and grabbed the phone handset from where it was lodged between two couch cushions.

'You're such an old lady,' he said, bringing it to his ear. 'When did you have that double testectomy, anyway? I would have sent flowers.'

'And you're so very predictable,' came Wilson's reply. 'What are you doing, sitting on the couch watching TV with the phone ringing away right next to you?'

'I'm sitting on the couch, eating a bacon and egg sandwich, watching foxy boxing with the phone ringing away right next to me,' he clarified. 'Why, what are you doing?'

'I'm... making a smoothie.'

'Oh, you sound busy. I'll let you get back to it.'

Wilson jumped in before he could hang up. 'I called you, remember? Come on, how'd it go last night?'

House took a defiant bite of his sandwich. 'Great,' he said, mouth full. 'Lots of fun had by all. We're doing it again next weekend.'

'Okay,' Wilson said. 'And how'd it really go?'

xxxxx

_last night..._

His collar was too tight. And his tie was ugly. He really hated getting dressed up. Especially for something guaranteed not to be any fun.

Wilson had come over beforehand - ostensibly because House needed to borrow his car to drive his parents around. In reality he knew Wilson just wanted to enjoy his discomfort.

It was Wilson who had badgered him until he put on a tie. He also suggested shaving, which made House think he'd been talking to Cuddy.

He'd stalled for as long as possible, but finally Wilson got him out the front door. Then after dropping him back at his place, and picking up his parents from their hotel, they'd arrived at the restaurant only a little late to find the Cuddy women waiting for them in the bar.

His mother greeted Cuddy like she was her long-lost daughter. There was hugging. He tapped his cane on the floor and thought about how he might use it if anyone tried to hug him.

Although looking over at the elder Cuddy, he was getting the impression she wasn't exactly the hugging type.

'Mom, this is Greg House, and his parents, Blythe and John.' Cuddy was smiling as she made the introductions, but he could see the apprehension behind the warmth of her greeting. She was nervous.

'Eve Cuddy,' the matriarch said as she came forward to shake their hands one by one.

He didn't wonder what she saw when her sharp gaze travelled over him appraisingly. A tall, scruffy guy with a cane - that was what everyone saw. The look in her eyes as she sized him up, however, did make him wonder what Cuddy had been saying about him.

The social security set exchanged pleasantries then and he cast a longing look towards the bar as he stood there, tugging at his collar.

Cuddy stepped to his side. 'Look at you,' she said, beaming up at him, 'You look good.'

'Thanks. You look fat. Have you put on weight recently?'

Her smile turned to chagrin. 'I thought you were going to be nice.'

He snorted. 'Not to you.'

She gave the ceiling a long-suffering look before returning her gaze to him. 'Fine. As long as you turn on that considerable charm for my mother I don't care what you do.'

'Fine. And you don't look fat. You look... like you're trying to impress someone. It's not me, is it?'

'It's not you,' she told him without missing a beat, and then added pointedly, 'Nice tie.'

'What, this old thing?'

He took a moment then to mentally curse Wilson and his stupid, ugly ties. He threw in some extra vitriol for all shirt collars, too, as he reached up to pull at his again.

'You're getting it all crooked,' she scolded, and suddenly she was batting his hand away and straightening his tie, frowning in concentration. 'There,' she said finally, 'Now leave it alone.' Her hand smoothed down over the front of his tie before she stepped back.

On one level he was aware that the parentals had almost certainly just witnessed that, which couldn't be a good thing. On another, he couldn't help noticing how her perfume was lingering in the air she'd just occupied. It was different from the light, unintrusive fragrance that usually followed her around at work.

She was definitely trying to impress _someone_.

'Oh good,' she said, looking away, 'I think our table's finally ready.'

There was a hostess coming their way with an armful of menus and they were soon being herded through into the dining area. He got her attention again with a hand at her back.

'You look nice,' he offered in a conciliatory tone. 'I like your shoes.'

It didn't have quite the desired effect.

'I don't have another sign on my back do I?' she asked suspiciously, slowing to a halt.

He sighed. 'No I like to keep public humiliation where it belongs. In the workplace.'

She reached around to check her back anyway, and then, mollified, kept walking. 'What was that about all week, anyway, all those little surprises?'

He shrugged nonchalantly. 'I get bored.'

'So I've noticed,' she muttered, tossing him an amused glance as they reached the table where the others were waiting for them.

'What were you two talking about back there?' Mama Cuddy asked curiously.

'Sports,' he said.

At the same time Cuddy said, 'Work.'

They looked at each other. 'I'm a Flyers fan,' he covered, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of the moment. 'She calls it work. I call it a privilege.'

The elder Cuddy favoured him with a raised eyebrow - a dubious expression that was eerily familiar.

Her daughter just sighed and suggested, 'Shall we sit down?'

The hostess was standing by politely and as they moved to take their seats she started handing out menus and informing them of the soup de jour.

That was when he noticed that he and Cuddy had been relegated to one side of the table - his father taking the head while his mother sat beside Mama Cuddy across from them. Maybe the three of them had decided they would want to sit together. Or maybe they figured this arrangement would be best for observational purposes.

He could feel it. They were being judged. It was like they were a couple of teenagers about to head off to the prom.

But he wasn't above doing a little manoeuvring of his own, and he pulled out the chair next to his father for Cuddy - creating an effective conversation barrier between him and his old man.

Cuddy, not catching on to the genius of the move, looked at him askance before thanking him warily and sitting down.

'I wasn't raised in a barn,' he told her, taking his own seat. 'Ask them, they'll vouch for me.'

'No barns,' his mother attested. 'Although there was that one place in Nebraska - remember John? When Greg was just starting to walk? The base commander's wife was quite a character -'

'A real loon,' his father interjected under his breath.

'She had the strangest collection of pets, and let them run wild - oh, thank you,' she paused as she was handed a menu. 'Anyway, one day I was in the yard hanging out laundry, and I turn around to see Greg about to be adopted by a stray goat.'

'Adopted?' Cuddy laughed.

'Or eaten, I guess - it was already chewing on his bonnet. Greg was just sitting there, didn't seem at all bothered by the whole thing. In fact, it wasn't until I ran over to pick him up that he got upset. 'Goat' was one of his first words...'

He winced, shifting in his chair. Only his mother, he thought. No one else would get away with telling precious anecdotes about him.

No one else knew any.

'You're embarrassing the boy,' his father said.

'Sorry,' she apologised immediately. 'My one and only baby story, I promise.' She smiled at him and he forgave her.

Only his mother.

'You're a military man, John?' Cuddy Sr. spoke up politely.

'All my life, Ma'am,' came the reply. 'Been retired now...'

He sank back in his chair as the small talk continued around him. He toyed with his menu and glanced over at Cuddy, who was still grinning as she perused the salad selection.

He leaned over slightly and said under his breath, 'Stop enjoying this.'

Her smile widened and she murmured back, 'That's the cutest story I've ever heard.'

Which he took to mean 'not a chance'.

He was acutely reminded that this was all her idea, this dinner, and if he was suffering, it was her fault.

'Good idea, stick with the salads,' he suggested. 'Did I mention you're looking kind of hefty these days?'

She didn't look up at him, just sighed and said, 'Read your menu.'

xxxxx

'Baby stories - unavoidable when you get two families together,' Wilson told him. 'Trust me, the awkward first meeting with the in-laws is always exactly the same. If no one brought pictures of you naked in the bath, you got off easy.'

'Easy? That's easy for you to say. I had my mother telling baby stories and Cuddy cackling evilly next to me, and her mother sitting there appraising me like a damn stud horse -'

'What was she like, Cuddy's mom?' Wilson asked, completely ignoring his list of grievances.

He huffed, disgruntled. 'Just like her daughter. Except older, and scarier, and with no sense of humour.'

'Oh, that sounds like a winning combination.'

xxxxx

_last night..._

It was his mother who suggested they all forgo wine with their meal, since Cuddy couldn't partake.

As it turned out, she and Cuddy were the only ones remotely amused when he suggested ordering a bottle of tequila so they could all do body shots instead.

The comment earned him another arch look from across the table and an impatient throat-clearing from his father, who then looked over at the kid waiting on them and ordered a round of club sodas.

Once the kid had scuttled away with the promise of a speedy return, Cuddy looked up from her menu, saying, 'The salmon looks good.'

'Oh, should you be eating fish, dear?' her mother spoke up immediately, and then without waiting for a reply, turned the question over to him. 'Should she be eating fish?'

Beside him, Cuddy bristled. This was interesting, he thought, and went to answer but Cuddy got there first.

'I actually decide what I can and can't eat, Mom,' she said, a definite edge to her voice. 'And fish is fine - especially salmon, it doesn't have the high mercury levels some other types of seafood do.'

'Actually,' he began, the opportunity to needle Cuddy too good to pass up.

She stopped him with a look. 'I wouldn't say one word about the damn fish if I was you,' she suggested.

He blinked at her for a moment, and then looked back down at his menu. 'Guess I'm having the chicken, then,' he said.

xxxxx

'Cuddy's mom,' he informed Wilson, 'Doesn't trust her little girl's judgement. Doesn't approve of her lifestyle choices, either. Which drives said little girl crazy. I really liked her.'

'You know, they say all women end up just like their mothers.'

'Not necessarily a bad thing - Mama Cuddy's one smokin' sexagenarian.' He smirked, picturing the face Wilson was pulling on the other end of the line.

'There's something disturbingly Oedipal about this thing you have for older women.'

'Don't worry, it's only gross if it's my own mom I want to sleep with.'

'Good information to have.'

'Something every boy should know,' he quipped.

'Yeah,' Wilson drew the word out, and then added distractedly, 'Hold on a second, I'm blending.'

The next few moments were filled with loud food-processing type noises. House spent the time finishing the last corner of his sandwich and sucking barbecue sauce from his fingers. His attention, meanwhile, was drawn back to the television, where a busty blonde was getting whaled on by a tougher, not to mention hotter, Latina.

'Boxing is truly the sport of kings,' he said as soon as Wilson stopped liquefying his food.

'That's horseracing.'

'Yeah, but jockeys don't have a habit of losing their bikini tops at crucial moments.'

'You're in a good mood.'

Wilson's carefully casual comment had him rolling his eyes. 'Was,' he corrected. 'Right now there's this nagging pain in my ear...'

He just wanted to be left alone to watch an badly staged, vaguely pornographic girlfight in peace - was that too much to ask? Not according to Wilson, apparently.

'You're not all grouchy - not any more than usual anyway - and you're not hung over, because if you were you wouldn't have answered the phone no matter what I said, or if you did, it would have only been to tell me to piss off. So that means you didn't drink yourself to sleep last night, which is always a good sign. Dinner can't have been that bad at all.'

'It wasn't. My mother's got a knack for smoothing over awkward social situations. And Cuddy's no slouch in that department. There was a lot of small talk, a lot of polite questions about the baby I didn't have to contribute to in any way. They spent the entire first course discussing nursery colour schemes. And by 'they' I mean everyone lacking a Y chromosome. Did you know red is the new blue?'

In that annoying way Wilson had of sometimes being astute, he said, 'And then what happened?'

'Many things. I think we covered public versus private schooling at one point...'

'What happened that you're obviously avoiding telling me about?'

'You do realise we're not teenage girls. We don't need to analyse every moment, every little thing everyone said. This was not a date with the cutest boy in school. Well, maybe it was like that for Cuddy - she's totally got a thing for me, you know. And her daughter's been known to cast her eye my way from time to time...'

'Oh I don't know, you manage to dissemble like a teenage girl all right.'

He rolled his eyes. 'Fine. But I'm officially referring to you as 'Jenny' from now on. And that toenail painting thing you've been trying so hard to keep a lid on? Hospital-wide memo first thing Monday morning.'

'Fine. Now do you want to stall some more or -'

xxxxx

_last night..._

Cuddy was good at this. It was the reason she had the board eating out of her hand most days, the reason donors threw money at her. She just had to smile and pretend to be polite and charming and competent. Diplomatic powers engaged, game face on.

It was the exact opposite of how he operated, of course, but he wasn't stupid enough not to appreciate it - he did when it was working in his favour, at any rate. And right now, it was. She was handling the three of them, allowing him to sit back and enjoy his chicken, which wasn't bad at all, somehow combining walnuts and raspberries without tasting like crap.

The problem was he was bored. Cuddy was working the baby angle for all it was worth and that's all anyone had talked about since the entree had arrived. He was having to come up with ways to occupy himself. The task had become much easier once he realised if he leaned an inch to his left and tilted his head just so he could see down Cuddy's dress - no mean feat on its own. Dinner with the parents obviously rated as a cleavage-free zone in her mind, and her neckline was a lot more demure than he was used to. A shame - if he had to sit down with her for a few hours, the least she could have done was give him something he didn't have to risk a neck cramp to look at.

'Have you decided on any names yet, Lisa?' his mother was saying as he scraped up compote with his fork.

'I haven't given it much thought, really.'

Liar, he thought. Cuddy was a girl. She'd probably had names picked out since she was eight years old.

Her next words confirmed it. 'Maybe Abigail, though, for a girl,' she mused. 'That was my grandmother's name, on Mom's side.'

There was general assent that this was a nice name. He was just pleased to have called it.

He took another bite, this time going for the squash that accompanied his chicken, and as he chewed he realised that Cuddy's purse was buzzing discretely. She hadn't noticed, and he grabbed it from where it was hanging over the back of her chair and handed it to her.

'Somebody wants you,' he said.

She went digging for her phone and checked the display, already pushing her chair back from the table. 'It's the hospital,' she explained. 'Sorry, you'll have to excuse me for a moment.'

His father barely had time to get halfway to his feet before she was gone.

'Are you as much of a workaholic as my daughter, Greg?' The question came his way as soon as they'd all watched Cuddy hurry from the dining room.

'Well she sets the bar high,' he said, 'But I do my best.'

Mom laughed softly. Dad didn't come right out and say he was really a lazy SOB, but still felt it necessary to provide a more balanced view of the work ethic he'd ascribed to most of his life.

'My son's always worked smarter, not harder.'

He kind of wished Cuddy had been there to hear that. Of course, as far as he was concerned, genius never took a break. So it was only fair if _he_ did whenever he happened to feel like it. If certain people didn't see it that way - what did they know? He was smarter than them, anyway.

Cuddy was gone awhile, and when she returned she didn't look happy.

'You don't have to go in, do you?' her mother asked as she retook her seat. 'At this hour?'

'No, there's nothing I can do right now, anyway,' she replied soberly.

Since nothing much happened at a hospital on a Saturday night other than routine patient care and emergency procedures, he could only surmise, 'Someone screwed up? But not so badly you have to rush over there and convince recently bereaved family members not to sue.'

She hesitated before explaining, 'One of our surgeons apparently forgot he was on call tonight, and when he was paged to assist with a procedure, he showed up drunk. Fortunately someone realised before he got near the patient but...' she trailed off with a shrug.

'Oh, someone's ass is so fired. Who is it, Ayersman?' he asked hopefully.

She gave him a look. 'Just because you don't like Dr Ayersman -'

'You don't either. Guy's a jerk.'

'That doesn't mean I'm jonesing for the man's career to be over.'

'Who was it then,' he pressed, 'Naylor? Whatshisname - that guy with the glasses?'

'Dr Feros? No,' she sighed and reluctantly admitted, 'It was Dr Simmons.'

'Ouch. Guy's got a rude awakening scheduled for tomorrow morning, along with the hangover.'

xxxxx

'Whoa, wait a minute. Simmons? You're kidding,' Wilson broke in.

'Try to focus, would you? I can't tell the story if you keep interrupting with frivolous questions.'

'Sorry. Of course, criminal negligence isn't the important issue here, your narrative flow is. What was I thinking?'

'Who knows what goes through that pretty little head of yours sometimes. Now, where was I?'

xxxxx

_last night..._

'Ouch. Guy's got a rude awakening scheduled for tomorrow morning, along with the hangover.'

'Does this sort of thing happen often?' his father asked, soldier's sense of duty clearly rankled.

'Occasionally there are problems,' Cuddy admitted. 'It's a high-pressure environment, substance abuse isn't unheard of. Luckily, in this case, since he didn't treat anyone, the matter can be handled internally.'

'Quietly, you mean,' he scoffed. 'Simmons should lose his license. Publicly _and_ humiliatingly.'

'Since we don't know all the details, I'm not going to speculate on what action should or shouldn't be taken.'

She said it mildly but he heard the underlying warning. In her eyes he was the last person to talk about practicing under the influence. In his own defence, it had only been a couple of times, and he never so much as popped a pimple, let alone tried to perform emergency surgery on anyone.

Unless she was talking about the vicodin. In which case he did stuff like that _all_ the time.

She wasn't talking about that, though. The number of times she hadn't accepted 'but I'm high on a controlled substance' as an excuse not to do clinic duty told him the vicodin did not, in fact, count.

Still, he decided not to push the point any further - he was, after all, trying to be nice, and thought he was doing admirably all things considered. She, meanwhile, had picked up her fork and was returning her attention to her salmon. It was then that his father sat back in his chair, wiping his hands on his napkin.

'So,' he said, giving Cuddy a shrewd look, 'You're my son's boss. How does that work?'

Cuddy looked up, puzzled, not answering immediately as she was busy working on a mouthful of food.

'I mean, isn't it a problem,' Dad was clarifying, 'In your position?'

He watched Cuddy's face, eyes widening as she realised what his father was talking about. Not that he'd seen this coming, either, but it was hardly astonishing coming from the old man.

'Well,' she began, having finally managed to swallow, 'There are rules in place, of course, but -'

'But this isn't the military,' he broke in, unwilling to let Cuddy have all the fun. 'And even in this age of political correctness gone mad,' he mockingly lamented, 'A guy can still knock up his boss and get away with it.'

'Greg,' his mother gave him a disapproving look, though she was fighting a smile.

They'd all stopped eating by now. This had drawn the attention of their acne-ridden attendant, who began gingerly removing plates as the discussion continued.

Cuddy spared him a look, then took a deep, fortifying breath. 'The rules we have are intended to protect against harassment, and favouritism,' she explained carefully. 'Greg's position is tenured, which means any change in his status is subject to review -'

'In other words, she can't just up and fire me, no matter how often she threatens to.'

'Or how good a reason I have,' she shot back.

'It can't look good,' his father pressed, unamused.

'It never looks good for the woman involved.' This was the elder Cuddy's dour contribution to the conversation.

_It_, he mused. A nice way to talk around the subject.

'There's no injured party,' Cuddy explained tightly. Her game face was starting to slip. He could tell she was not nearly as unaffected by this line of questioning as she seemed. 'So unless someone lodges a formal complaint -'

'After everything you do for that place, they certainly owe you more respect than that,' Mama Cuddy again, showing a little maternal solidarity.

Cuddy sighed. 'I'm sure it won't come to that,' she said.

'Yeah, I'd like to see someone lay a charge of inappropriate conduct on you,' he said. She looked over at him, eyebrows raised. 'I'm serious,' he went on, indicating her with his thumb, 'We're talking bitch slap city. She's the least inappropriate person in that place.'

'The difference between us being that I don't see that as a bad thing,' Cuddy pointed out dryly.

'We've got doctors performing surgery under the influence,' he reminded her. 'Doctors running around after interns and nurses. Doctors self-medicating, sleeping with _patients_, all sorts of _really_ unethical stuff. Two grownups with no conflict of interest accidentally procreating is the least of anyone's problems.'

'Couldn't have said it better myself, actually,' Cuddy said, looking rather surprised to be agreeing with him. 'Look,' she went on, addressing the three of them earnestly, 'I know this seems so... out of the blue. We're both very set in our ways, and obviously this is going to be mean big changes. But we've known each other for years, we work well together - I think we can handle this, don't you?'

He realised this last was addressed to him, and further realised that he never should have gotten involved in the discussion in the first place. Now suddenly she was looking at him all expectantly and _'we'_? Who was this 'we' she kept talking about?

Fortunately, he was saved from asking by the return of their waiter.

'Would anyone care to see our dessert menu?'

'Yeah, over here,' he said eagerly. 'Nothing for her, though,' he added, indicating Cuddy with a tilt of his head. 'She's been piling on the pounds. Someone's gotta put a stop to it.'

xxxxx

'It's all making sense now.'

'Right, the world according to Jimmy - sorry, _Jenny_. Let's hear it.'

'You enjoyed it.'

'Dessert? Okay, I'll confess, the chocolate torte is to die for.'

'_Cuddy_ was the one under fire from your dad, not you, and that meant you got to swoop in and defend her like a knight in... slightly tarnished armour. And you _enjoyed_ it.'

'Oh wow. Ever considered having your own talk show? You'd be a natural.'

'It's why you're functional this morning instead of recovering from alcohol poisoning.'

He huffed in frustration, annoyed that Wilson wouldn't let it go. 'You want this to be all about Cuddy and my unrequited love for her ,' he accused snidely, 'Because then you get to don your relationship guru hat and talk me through my secret pain. Which conveniently distracts you from your own tragic circumstances and the oh so tricky truth - that you can help everyone but yourself.'

There was a long moment of silence on the other end of the line before Wilson finally spoke.

'Want me to come over there so you can beat me up in person?'

'Nah,' he replied, subsiding, 'I'm good.'

'I mean, it's understandable - I know your unrequited love for Cuddy is a source of great frustration and angst for you...'

'On second thought, come on over.'

'I'm just saying, it's good to have an outlet for all your secret pain.'

'Causing some not-so-secret pain would really work for me right now,' he threatened casually. Then he looked up suddenly, as there was a knock at the door. 'That was fast,' he said, as he pulled himself to his feet, 'What other super powers aren't you telling me about?'

'What?' came the confused reply.

'Who else knocks on my door at - ever, actually. I don't remember ordering anything, food or hookers.'

'I'm... in my kitchen. You've got my car, remember?'

'If that's not you, here's hoping for girl scouts bearing cookies. Or hookers bearing cookies - even better.'

He reached the door, put his eye to the peephole and then carefully retreated.

'Crap,' he said.

'Jehovah's Witnesses?'

'Worse. My parents.'

'What, are you going to pretend you're not home?' Wilson said after a moment. 'Because they can probably hear you moving around. What are you doing?'

He was, in fact, leaning over the back of the couch, overturning the seat cushions.

'Hang on,' he yelled back at the door.

'You haven't been sitting around in your tighty-whiteys this whole time, have you?' Wilson asked, clearly amused.

'No, but I have half-naked chicks trying to pull each other's hair out on my TV and I can't find the remote,' House replied, decidedly less so.

Wilson was flat out laughing now, and he hung up the phone without another word before tossing it aside.

It was only once he'd abandoned his search and had moved around the couch to hit the power button on the set, that he noticed the remote sticking out from under his plate on the coffee table.

And he'd been having such a good morning, too, he reflected. Wilson had been right about that - sort of. Dinner hadn't been nearly as bad as it could have been. And although parts of it were exactly as painful as he'd predicted, other parts were interesting at least, if not exactly enjoyable.

Finally managing to get the television turned off, he made his way reluctantly back over to the door to let his parents in.

xxxxx

_last night..._

His dad insisted on paying once the bill arrived. The two Cuddys protested but 'it's not every day I get to treat my son and three attractive ladies to a nice meal' was difficult to argue with.

He, of course, didn't try, having had no intention of paying a cent to begin with.

Cuddy spoke up just as they were all preparing to leave the table. 'John, Blythe, once the baby's born I hope you know you're welcome to come and visit us anytime.'

There she was, at it again. Us? _Anytime_? He turned and glared at her. When that didn't get her attention he lifted up his foot and planted it down on hers, which worked much better. Once she'd wrested her toes out from under his heel she turned her head to stare at him.

'I'm sorry, was that your foot? I'm so clumsy sometimes.'

The evil glint in her eye told him she knew exactly what his problem was. And he had a brief moment to think that maybe all the fat jokes hadn't been such a great idea before she turned right back to face the others.

'In fact,' she went on, smiling sweetly, 'Don't even feel you need to call first. Just show up any time. It'll be so nice to see you. Won't it Greg?'

'Oh, that'll be great,' he agreed.

His mother, of course, knew that was a big fat lie, but was apparently too amused to call him on it.

'I'll just assume I'm included in that gracious invitation?' Mama Cuddy said dryly.

'No Mom, you still have to call.' Cuddy's equally dry response drew the first shred of humour from the older woman he'd yet seen. - something he might have found interesting if he wasn't too busy deciding where to hide the body.

Because Cuddy was a dead woman.

He told her so as they were walking out together.

She just laughed. 'You're so easy with your parents around. We really should do this more often.'

'Sure. If by 'more often' you mean 'never, ever again in a million, _bazillion_ years',' he told her emphatically.

But she wasn't paying attention, and he followed her gaze over to where their mothers were standing with their heads bent together.

Cuddy frowned. 'Are they -?'

'Yep. They're exchanging phone numbers.'

'That can't be good.'

Of course it wasn't good. Mothers conspiring against their children was never good. Especially when one of them was his and the other...

'Your mother hates me, doesn't she?' he asked.

She looked at him for a moment, then sighed. 'Don't take it personally. The only men she's ever liked are the ones I can't stand.'

'I was nice, wasn't I?'

'You were... a lot nicer than I thought you'd be.' She smiled. 'Thank you. This was...'

'Don't say 'fun'. I'll have to check you for a brain injury.'

Shaking her head, she stepped over, stretched up and kissed his cheek. 'I'll see you on Monday,' she said, and moved away to say goodbye to his parents.

He suddenly found himself facing down a very civil Eve Cuddy, who told him it was a pleasure meeting him in a tone that left him wondering where all her daughter's warmth came from.

And further wondering, as he watched the two of them, mother and daughter, walk off together in the direction of their car, whether he should have shaved after all.

xxxxx

His father was wandering around, looking at the stuff on his shelves. His mother was rummaging in the kitchen because she didn't believe him when he said he hadn't been to the store in a while, and had nothing to offer them but beer and leftover takeout.

This was why he didn't invite his parents to visit. They were in his space and they were _looking_ at things. And he couldn't throw them out the way he could - and would - anyone else. Thankfully, they were only here for a short while, to say goodbye before heading to the airport. He'd even offered to drive them - Wilson's car had a full tank so it wasn't like it would cost him anything.

'You still keep up with your music, huh?'

Looking around the room - the guitar in the corner, the sheet music spread across the open piano - a big fat 'duh' was really the only suitable response to that.

'Yeah,' he said instead.

'Good to have a hobby.'

'Yeah.'

What was good at the moment, he thought, was being asked a string of inane questions that only required equally inane, monosyllabic answers.

'Won't have all this free time on your hands with a baby to take care of. They'll run you ragged.'

'Well I'm not planning on being the one doing much of the running.'

The joke passed right over his dad's head. Or else he just ignored it, sighing as he looked up at one of the framed album covers on the wall.

After a moment's pause his dad spoke again. 'Better hope for a girl.' A glance back over at him when he didn't answer. 'A girl needs her mother - Lisa seems to have her head on straight at least, and if you're not planning on being around -'

'Like you were?' He wished he could call back the words as soon as he said them. There was never any point getting into it with his father. Long experience had taught him that.

'Your mother always did the best she could.' His father turned to face him fully. 'You think I don't regret not being there more for both of you? You think you're doing what's right - doesn't always seem that way in hindsight.'

'She'll be a good mom. Kid'll be fine with her, whether it ends up in ballet classes or little league.'

'I'm sure that's true. But this isn't about her, it's about taking responsibility -'

'A sense of obligation - yeah, that's a great basis for a family.'

His father's eyes narrowed. 'Your whole life you never did anything if you weren't already sure you could. You ask me, the only reason you're not stepping up the way you know you should, is because you're afraid you won't be able to be what this child will _need_ you to be.'

Jaw clenched tight, he stared at the floor, hearing exactly what his father wasn't saying. Coward, coward, coward.

'I'm making tea,' came a hesitant voice from the kitchen doorway.

He looked over at his mom, wondering how long she'd been standing there. Not that she wouldn't have heard it all anyway. It was a small apartment.

And this, of course, was the real reason why he avoided seeing his parents as much as he could. Because no one made him feel the way they did, each in their own way.

'I have tea?' he said after a moment.

'English breakfast,' she confirmed with a smile.

'Wilson must have left it when he finally got his own place. See, it could be worse, Dad - I could be thirty-seven and finalising my third divorce.'

'He's just going to keep trying till he finds one that sticks, isn't he?' was his father's mildly humorous response.

He noticed his mother's stance relaxing as the tension in the room eased a little.

'I'll give you a hand,' he said, getting to his feet and making his way past her into the kitchen.

Not that she needed any help, but just so that he could lean up against the counter, pop a pill and relax for a moment.

'Steve's a lot cuter than I thought he'd be,' his mother said as she joined him, nodding towards the cage.

'Rats get a lot of bad press. They're clean, intelligent, resilient, eat just about anything - they make good pets.'

Her next words weren't about Steve. 'He just wants this to be a good thing for you,' she said quietly.

He could hear the television being switched on out in the living room, and wondered briefly whether the girl-fighting was still on.

'What do you think?' he asked after another moment.

'I think it already is.' She smiled up at him, patted his arm and stepped away to begin pouring the tea, which had been steeping in an old stainless steel teapot he'd had since before he met Stacy.

He vaguely remembered it being stashed at the back of a cupboard somewhere under a pile of random kitchen detritus. Trust his mother to find it.

'Lisa's lovely, isn't she?' she commented idly as she added a spoonful of sugar to one of the cups and stirred.

'No,' he replied.

She gave him a fond look. 'Don't lie, dear,' she said, and passed him his tea.


	22. Neutral Tones

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

xxxxx

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - Neutral Tones

xxxxx

'I can see why you like him.'

That had been the first thing her mother had said when they'd gotten in the car after leaving the restaurant on Saturday night. It was, of course, her mother's way of saying 'you have the worst taste in men'.

'Oh?' she'd replied evenly.

'I'm just saying, he's smart - you've always gone for the smart ones.'

'Yes, he's smart. But that's got nothing to do with... anything. It's not like that. We're just...' She searched for a word other than 'friends' and came up short. She shrugged. 'I don't know what we are.'

'All right,' he mother shrugged back. 'Anyway, I'm sure one of these modern arrangements will suit you just fine.'

Which was her way of saying 'you'll never be a good mother when you're still so selfishly dedicated to your career'.

She'd just pressed her lips together to keep from responding, and kept driving.

She tried not to think about that conversation now as she moved at a light but steady pace down the sidewalk. In fact, she tried not to think about her mother at all, especially not the fact that she was still _here_.

She hadn't even realised until she arrived on Saturday that she was planning a longer stay than just overnight. She'd picked up her mother and her very large suitcase from the airport, only to be informed that she'd purchased a one way ticket.

But no, she wasn't going to think about that, nor the annoying habit her mother had of always questioning her judgement.

She'd thought her mother would have still been asleep, only to be stopped on her way out the front door just now. Of course, she was only a grown woman, not to mention a doctor of some years, who might have some idea whether it was a good idea to be jogging 'in her condition' as her mother had put it.

The fact was, she had been feeling great lately, wonderful even. And as long as she was feeling this way, healthy and strong and just plain _good_, then she was going to make the most of it, and do the things she enjoyed while she still could. An early morning run was easily one of her favourite pastimes. It was a way to clear her mind, focus on the rhythm of her body and muscles, her feet on the ground, it left her feeling energised and ready to face another long day at work.

It was a clear, crisp morning - nice even for a Monday. She wasn't going to let her mother's lingering presence - in her house or her thoughts - ruin what would probably be the best part of a challenging day.

xxxxx

'Get into a program,' she found herself telling a tense, drawn Dr Simmons a few hours later. 'Get your life back together. Your record here was always exemplary, Alan,' she cringed inwardly as she realised she'd slipped into past tense. 'When you're ready to take on a new position I'll be happy to -'

'You'll have my resignation by noon,' he interrupted her stiffly, getting to his feet.

She couldn't bring herself to blame him for the rebuff - she wouldn't have wanted to hear platitudes in his position, either. But that was all she had to offer him.

'I guess it's only the drug addicts around here who can get away with anything,' he said, looking angrily at the door, rather than face her. 'A shame we don't all qualify for the special treatment.'

Shocked, she stared at him long enough for him to reach the door. But she certainly wasn't about to let that go.

'You dropped the scalpel.'

Simmons froze with his hand on the door.

'You dropped it and then you picked it up, right off the floor. Dr Hannah had to tell you to leave the room - you didn't even know you weren't sterile. What would have happened if you hadn't dropped it - what if you'd started cutting? Have you asked yourself that question?' There was no answer, which was really answer enough. She sighed. She wasn't House - there was no pleasure in this for her. 'You need help,' she finished, 'And I can't have you working here while you get it.'

'I didn't think anyone...'

'Hardly anyone knows just how close it was. It's only because the people in the room with you obviously have a great deal of respect for you, and they aren't talking.'

'Well, that's something I guess.'

Once he was gone, she tried to put the encounter out of her mind, and get back to work. It had been unsettling in more ways than one.

Turning to her computer she dismissed the PPTH logo screensaver with a flick of the mouse and started going through the email that had amassed over the weekend. Summarily deleting a solicitous message from a drug rep - she'd already told the man no, and the thought of him sweet talking her over dinner was about as appealing as the substandard drugs he was peddling.

When the next email in the queue came up, it took her a moment to realise what she was looking at. There was no text, just an image. An image of her Head of Oncology, stretched out asleep on a couch - a very familiar couch, not that she needed visual evidence that this was House's doing. She didn't even need to look at the sender's address to know _that_.

The key feature in the picture was, after all, the hot pink toe nails Wilson's bare feet were sporting. There were even several attached close-up shots to confirm it.

She couldn't help it. She laughed. Here, alone in her office - and especially not in the vicinity of House who would only take it as encouragement - she was free to find it funny.

House, she thought, grinning as she deleted the email, clearly had far too much time on his hands.

She supposed it was Wilson's turn to bear the brunt of House's boredom this week. Considering that this email looked to have been sent to every staff account in the hospital - of which there were about a thousand - she realised she'd gotten off light last week.

She found herself wondering what exactly Wilson had done to provoke this. And... what she should do about it. She sighed, amusement fading fast.

House had been keeping his head down since she had announced her pregnancy. As much as he ever did, he hadn't caused any major dramas, at least. She would have liked to think he had consciously made the decision to act responsibly at a time when his (and her) behaviour was under close scrutiny. But she knew better than that - partly it was circumstantial, he merely hadn't had an cases recently that required him to do anything too insane, destructive, or illegal. Partly, she thought that he was just reacting to all the attention. He was a private person who, as she'd told him herself on occasion, could dish it out, but couldn't take it.

She'd been well aware that it was merely a grace period, and wouldn't last forever, and now apparently House was ready to start making waves again with his usual disregard for consequences. It was a problem. Everyone in the hospital had seen this. If House was going to start acting up, people were going to look to her to see how she would react.

And there was no way to win in this situation.

If she brought him to heel - and succeeded - it would be because she was sleeping with him, and therefore had undue influence over him. Whereas if she let him get away with it, or simply couldn't control him, it would be for the exact same reason - because she was sleeping with him. Only in this case, people would assume that it was because _he_ had undue influence over _her_.

The fact that she _wasn't_ sleeping with him just made it that much more frustrating.

Frustrating.

Yes, that was the word for it, all right.

xxxxx

Later that morning she found herself on the fourth floor, on her way back from the cardiology department and decided to detour past House's office. Assuming he was there, she could stop in and tell him to stop using the staff email network as a means of humiliating his friend.

When she arrived, she was presented with a fine picture of not one but two members of her staff hard at work.

Wilson was slumped down so low in his chair she could barely see his head over the back of it. House's chair was tilted far back, his feet up on the desk. Both of them looking extremely relaxed, entirely at leisure.

Poking her head in the door she demanded, 'My God, do the two of you _ever_ do any work?'

'Actually,' House began, but she cut him off.

'Not you, I _know_ how much work _you_ do. It's the highly respected Head of Oncology over there I have to wonder about.'

'The question you have to ask yourself,' Wilson pondered philosophically, not moving other than to crane his head backwards to look at her as she remained hanging in the doorway, 'Is which of us is a worse influence on the other?'

'Kind of a chicken and the egg scenario, though,' House mused, echoing Wilson's tone. 'We could be here for hours, locked in debate.'

'We should get snacks,' Wilson suggested seriously.

She shook her head in dismay, unable to smother a laugh. 'You're like two kids who need to be separated in class.'

'That's her way of saying she wants some 'alone time' with me,' he interpreted for Wilson, complete with air-quotation marks. 'Don't worry,' he went on, addressing her now, 'My friend Jenny here was just leaving.'

'Oh no, I wouldn't want to interrupt your playdate. I just wanted to - wait. _Jenny_?'

Wilson shrugged. 'I'm a girl. It's his new thing.'

'I assume this has something to do with the email?'

'I'm a girl, and he wants everyone to know it. While conveniently leaving out the part where he got me drunk one night, waited till I passed out, and then assaulted me with nail polish and a camera. Hey, you wanna fire him? You can count on my vote.'

She laughed. 'I think the better question is, why did he have pink nail polish on hand in the first place?'

'Because red makes me look trashy,' House said matter-of-factly.

She just rolled her eyes at that and prepared to duck back out of the room, because as entertaining as this was, she didn't have time to hang around all day.

'Listen,' she said, 'There's little point in telling you what you already know, but if you continue to use the staff email network as your personal playground, I'll... have to keep you inside at recess.'

She'd gotten just five or six steps down the hall when he reached the door and called after her. 'Hey!'

She turned back.

'Is that all?' he asked, causing her to look at him questioningly. 'You got distracted by all the witty banter, but is that all you had to say?'

She shrugged. 'Well as long as this isn't the start of a prank war that's going to turn the entire hospital upside down, why would I care if you expose Wilson's nail polish fetish?'

Because this, she had just now realised, was exactly what her response would have been before all of this. And so it was exactly what she was going to do now.

House appeared to be unfazed by the revelation. 'When what you should be worried about,' he said, 'Is whether I ever took pictures of you, while you were sleeping.'

She shook her head emphatically. 'No.'

'No?'

'I've got to get to a meeting. I'm busy,' she hissed, mindful all of a sudden that they were in a very public place. 'I don't have time to be wondering about what you may or may not have done to me in my sleep.'

She walked away, sure he was smirking at her back. It was a joke, though, she told herself. He was just trying to rile her.

She told herself this several times as she reached the end of the hall and stood waiting for the elevator to arrive.

xxxxx

She'd just returned from a working lunch with a few key members of the hospital's legal team, where the main topic of conversation had been whether their asses were covered following the fiasco with Simmons over the weekend.

'How was lunch?' Marla asked, as she rose and followed her into her office.

'Great. Nothing like hearing the words 'no legal obligation' twenty or thirty times to really boost your appetite,' she replied distractedly, as she rounded her desk and faced the piles of paperwork that seemed to amass whenever her back was turned for more than a few seconds. 'Any messages?'

'Dr Wakefield called again to complain about the maintenance work that's been going on outside his office since last week. Gina from the main desk up on three wants to know if there's anywhere they can move the patients being bothered by all the maintenance work. Maintenance called to let you know they'll be at it till tomorrow, if not Wednesday. And your mother called,' she finished, 'Wanting to know where you keep the silver polish.'

If the other messages had Cuddy rolling her eyes, this was by far the worst of the lot.

'_Silver_ polish?' She stared at Marla. 'I don't even... _have_ any silver. What can she possibly want to _polish_?' she demanded.

'Should I call her back and tell her not to polish anything?' Marla asked mildly.

She rested her face in her palm and looked up at the older woman, wondering how pathetic it would make her if she said yes.

Her mother was driving her crazy. And it was only Monday.

'No,' she said reluctantly, 'I'll call her.'

'Dr Cuddy?' A voice from the open doorway got her attention then. She looked past Marla to see Brenda there, and acknowledged her with a look.

'He's doing it again,' was all Brenda said. Then, having delivered her message, promptly turned around and left.

With an exasperated sigh, she checked her watch and got to her feet.

'I don't have time for this,' she said to herself, even as she headed out.

'Want me to make that call for you?' Marla called after her.

She turned back briefly with a grateful smile. 'Thank you!'

After all, she thought, as she headed out into the clinic, House got to be childish on a regular basis - having her assistant run a little interference for her was hardly a crime.

The 'he' that Brenda had referred to was, of course, the overgrown infant himself, the 'it' being slacking off.

He wasn't sleeping, though, as she'd expected to find when she entered the exam room, nor even playing video games. He was just sitting, spinning idly back and forth on the stool.

'House,' she said, coming in with hands on hips, 'You can sit in here as long as you want, it won't count as time served unless you're actually seeing patients.'

He kept turning a few seconds longer, then finally stopped and looked at her.

'About time you got here,' he said. 'I was getting so bored I was almost considering bringing one of those idiots in here just to keep me amused.'

'What?'

'Close the door,' he said.

'Why?' She asked suspiciously. This wasn't how this usually went - he would be avoiding work, she would find him and bully him into doing it.

'Wanna try for a who, when and where, while you're at it?' he said as he got to his feet and, reaching around her, pushed the door shut with the end of his cane.

'Still stuck on the 'why' over here,' she remarked pointedly.

He didn't answer right away. As he returned to his seat he gave her one of his calculating looks. 'You ran off before we could talk, before.'

'I was busy. I'm _still_ busy, so I really don't have time for whatever -'

'But you'll always make time to nag me about my clinic duty, so here we are.'

'Right,' she sighed. 'Fine, you've got my attention, what is it?'

Again he didn't say anything and after a moment of looking at him expectantly she threw up her hands and turned to the door.

'You think it's a girl?'

'What?' She faced him again.

'At dinner, you came up with one name, a girl's name.'

Confused, she replied slowly, 'Yeah... Because my grandmother's name was Abigail. So?'

'So, I once had a goldfish named Joe...'

She let out a short laugh. 'Okay. You know what? Having a conversation shouldn't be a guessing game. If you'd like to share whatever problem you're clearly having right now, I'm listening. If not, then you can get off your ass and start seeing some patients, because I'm out of here.'

'I want to name it,' he said as soon as she'd finished.

She just blinked at him for a moment. 'What?'

'The baby. I think I should do it. You're going to give it some stupid name -'

'Like one previously in use by a goldfish?'

'Poor kid doesn't deserve whatever you're going to come up with.'

'What's wrong with Abigail?' she demanded, frowning.

'You owe me, remember? I was 'nice' at dinner - you even said so yourself - and now I get something in return.'

'We never agreed on the terms -'

'Exactly, no terms, so I get to choose my reward.'

'How about the term 'no way in hell'? Is that clear enough?'

'And now it starts to come out,' he said in a superior tone, 'Happy to have me around, aren't you, until something comes up you actually care about. Then it's strictly single parenthood.'

She took a deep, calming breath, reigning in her frustration. 'You can have a say - I _want_ you to have a say,' she ground out, 'But I'm not letting you name this baby Joe or Elvis or something equally ridiculous just because you managed to sit through one lousy meal without directly insulting anyone - except _me_!'

His head cocked to one side thoughtfully. 'So, what, we make a list, find something we both don't hate?'

'I imagine that's what normal people do,' she drawled. 'So it'll be a stretch for us, but I'm sure we'll figure something out. And now that we've got this terribly pressing issue out of the way I'm going to have to insist that you actually, oh I don't know, do your job maybe?'

He ignored that last part. 'So what's on your list?'

'I don't have one yet,' she told him, moving to the door again.

'Yes you do,' he insisted.

Hand on the door she cast her eyes to the ceiling, knowing there was little point arguing. 'Abigail,' she recited dutifully, 'Sarah -'

'Boring.'

She frowned at the interjection, but continued. 'Georgia...'

'You _do_ think it's a girl. Or you want it to be a girl. Or you already found out it's a girl, and just forgot to mention it.'

'No, I don't know what it is. I just haven't thought of any boys names I like - girl names are easier to come up with.' She shrugged. 'I don't even know... whether I want to know beforehand at all.'

'Oh come on, you don't want to wait.'

'What's wrong with being surprised?'

He rolled his eyes. 'It's still a surprise if we find out now. It's just sooner.'

'Well anyway, there's no rush,' she pointed out, 'It's still a bit soon to tell. Wait till I have my amnio in a few weeks - I'll decide then.'

'Not necessarily too soon. We might not be able to get a good enough look, but then again, we might.'

'Now?'

'You get final say on the name - fair enough. I want this instead.'

Suddenly a few things fell into place. She laughed knowingly. 'Classic bargaining technique. Ask me something you know I'll say no to - just makes it harder for me to refuse your next request.'

He started to pull the portable sonogram machine from where it stood in the corner, indicating the exam bed with a jerk of his head. 'Lie down,' he said.

She didn't move, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth as she thought about it. 'It's too soon, we won't be able to tell,' she protested weakly. Even in her own ears it sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as him.

'Oh but you want to know, don't you? Don't try to deny it - all that 'wanting to be surprised', 'I don't care what it is' crap... '

'I _don't_ care.'

'Just that it's healthy, right? Sure, that's what they all say. 'Girl's names are easier',' he recited mockingly. 'Don't worry, my Dad's with you on this one.'

'He's hoping for a girl? That's... sweet, actually,' she said, bemused. 'He wants a little granddaughter to spoil?'

'Something like that. Now kindly get over here.'

She found herself grinning suddenly in anticipation despite herself, as she finally moved, stepping over and sitting up on the table. Shaking her head at letting herself get caught up in his foolishness she said again, 'It's too soon.'

'No harm in looking.'

He barely waited for her to get her shirt out of the way before squirting gel on her belly, impatient as he began moving the wand around. She joined him in looking eagerly up at the display as the images started appearing.

Her smile softened as she gazed, spellbound. It didn't seem to matter, how many years she'd spent learning and practicing medicine, or how many times she'd witnessed or performed sonograms on other women - it all seemed different now. She was the woman on the table, and this was her baby, and somehow it was both more real and less real at the same time. More profound and deeply terrifying all at once.

She suddenly found herself blinking back moisture forming around her eyes and lifted her hands to wipe at them, laughing a little self-consciously. Hormones, she thought, were getting to be a real problem.

'Hey,' he said, getting her attention. 'What do you think?'

The wand had all but stilled on her stomach, she realised, and she looked back up at the screen.

'You seeing what I'm seeing?' he went on when she didn't say anything.

Another moment passed. 'Yeah,' she said. 'There it is.'

xxxxx

Despite what certain people might have had to say on the subject, she didn't love shopping. Since the wide majority of her wardrobe consisted of work attire, she merely saw shopping as a necessary task - because she of all people knew that appearances mattered. Her position being more visible than most in the medical field, she had to dress the part and that's all there was to it.

But she'd been good for hours now. She'd tolerated the Saturday crowds, she had a mass of shopping bags filled with the clothes she needed - clothes for work, clothes that _fit_ - and all without killing her mother, who managed to make the process of finding, trying and buying somehow even more of a chore than usual.

Now that was all out of the way, though, and she was determined to do something she actually wanted to.

She was finding that even her mother's murmurings about the boutique prices were easy to ignore as she took her time wandering around the intimate little store, perusing shelves full of blankets and bibs and plushie toys, tiny little outfits, tiny little shoes and hats.

Every last thing was small and soft and adorable, and she couldn't believe she'd waited till now to do this. She'd shopped for other people's babies, of course - friends, co-workers, her sister - but this was different.

She smiled as she looked through selections of achingly sweet size 000 clothes, from onesies to frilly dresses and sailor suits.

The permanent smile already fixed on her face widened as she took in a rack of cute little t-shirts, and one in particular bearing the slogan 'Born to be Wild'. She laughed softly to herself, thinking of House, how fitting it would be for any child of his. She was already trying to reign in the impulse to buy up the entire place, but this she simply had to have.

Like almost everything in the store, they came in a range of pastel colours - blue and pink, yellow and lavender. She reached for one in soft baby blue, and turned to show her mother.


	23. Girls, Girls, Girls

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

A/N: Well, so much for what I thought would be a clever way of announcing the baby's gender! Turns out I just confused some people, and offended others with the use of traditional colours. For the record, yes, it's a boy! And given that, the title of this chapter amuses me to no end. :)

A/N2: Dr Kubisak is borrowed with much love and respect from the season one episode 'Maternity', in which he makes a brief appearance and has about three lines in total.

xxxxx

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - Girls, Girls, Girls

xxxxx

It was the middle of the day. Cuddy's guard dog - or as he had come to affectionately refer to her, 'the gorgon' - was away from her desk, probably at lunch.

As he watched surreptitiously from the other side of the front desk and partially hidden by a decorative pot plant, he watched as Cuddy emerged from her office and headed out across reception towards the stairs.

Perfect timing, he thought, as he made his move.

xxxxx

'What are you doing?' she demanded the moment she stepped through the door. 'I've been gone for five minutes. What, did you have the place staked out?'

Quickly, but without any outward signs of rushing, he closed down Cuddy's day planner and brought up a game of spider solitaire instead. It was safely on screen by the time she rounded the desk.

'Yep, that's how I spend my time, hanging around just waiting for the opportunity to carry out my fiendish plans.'

'Move,' she ordered, shooing him away.

'Relax,' he told her. 'I'm just blitzing your 'difficult' score. And bringing you lunch,' he added.

'You brought me lunch?' she asked as he abandoned the game and removed himself from her chair. Her tone was somewhere between pleased and suspicious as she eyed the aforementioned lunch, sitting innocuously on her blotter.

'It's chicken lasagne. Home made.' He rounded the desk and settled himself opposite her with his own little container and fork.

'Really?' She picked it up, looking unconvinced. 'Why does it say 'property of James Wilson, do not touch'?'

'Because he was the one who made it, and provided the cute matching tupperware. Don't mind the label, he writes that on everything. It's like the nutritional information on a package of twinkies. No one expects you to pay any attention to it.' He shrugged. 'They're twinkies.'

'So really Wilson brought me lunch and you're just the delivery boy?'

He rolled his eyes. 'The way you're filling out lately, I didn't think there'd be this much trouble getting you to eat.'

Her eyes narrowed, but she stopped staring at the lasagne like it might be laced with rat poison and picked up her fork. 'Just how much longer are you going to keep it up with the fat jokes?'

He shrugged. 'Depends. I like to find something that works and stick with it. Some women never lose the baby weight - could be indefinitely.'

She let out a short, irritated laugh. 'I think I preferred it when the comments were about my chest.' She stopped, frowning. 'I can't believe I just said that.'

'If you want, I'll throw a 'nice ta-tas' your way every once in a while, for old times sake.'

'Thanks,' she said dryly, and took a bite of lasagne. Surprised, she went on more appreciatively, 'This is really good.'

'He's going to make someone such a good little wife someday.'

'You're the one he's cooking for,' she pointed out.

'Out of necessity - now that I know he can cook, if he doesn't make extra for me, I just steal his.'

She just looked at him for a moment, chewing slowly. 'He has no idea I'm eating his lunch, does he?'

He glanced at his watch. 'He probably knows _someone's_ eating it by now. Don't worry - who'd deny food to a pregnant woman?'

'Well you would,' she replied wryly, 'Unless it gave you a chance to annoy your friend without any fear of reprisal.'

He shrugged, unconcerned that she'd uncovered his fiendish plan - well, part of it anyway.

Really good fiendish plans always had layers.

'How's your mom?' he asked, abruptly changing the subject. 'Killed her in her sleep, yet?'

She didn't respond immediately, as she tried to figure out how he knew Mama Cuddy was still in town, since she hadn't bothered mentioning it to him. 'She's fine. Still alive and kicking.'

Her answer meant she hadn't figured it out, but was resisting asking for an explanation. No matter, he was happy to provide one.

'You're meeting her for lunch tomorrow,' he informed her. 'Tricky since she usually lives two states over.' Her expression was rapidly turning sour. If she hadn't been chewing he knew the glare would have been verbalised. 'Between your lunch date with Mom, and that teeth cleaning next Thursday morning, your social calendar is impressive.'

'Am I going to have to start posting a security guard outside my door every time I leave?' she demanded finally.

'You really thought I'd use private time with your computer to play card games?' he returned.

'Of course, I should just take it for granted you'd be invading my privacy... I don't need a security guard, I need a restraining order.'

He smiled, not so much at her disgruntled mutterings however, as at what he was about to spring on her. Her sad lack of a social life wasn't the only point of interest he'd uncovered in her planner.

'You're seeing Kubisak tomorrow afternoon.'

She huffed, still annoyed. 'Yes. He's doing my amnio.'

'I thought you were seeing Princeton's favourite baby doctor - whatshername -'

'Deb Feao. She was seeing me as a favour before. Now word's out around here I don't have to go all the way across town for a check-up, I can just go upstairs.'

'I looked up your friend. She's good. Her percentages are better than _Kubisak's_.'

'Kubisak is fine. He's one of our top -'

'And you really want him sticking his head up your skirt?'

'Oh grow up. What's your problem with Kubisak - besides your usual inability to get along with your fellow human beings?'

'He's second rate.' She opened her mouth to object and he went on quickly, 'But that's not my problem with him. I don't have any problem with him. This is politics, plain and simple. You can't be seen going elsewhere for treatment - pity you can't sweep an accidental pregnancy under the rug like you did Simmons last week. So you'll settle for one of our guys just because it keeps everyone happy.'

'Not you, apparently,' she responded sharply, shaking her head in exasperation. 'I don't know what you expect from me, I'm just trying to do what's best for everybody. And the suggestion that I'd accept anything less than the highest standard of care from _anyone_ in my hospital is -'

'Preposterous!' he mocked.

'Insulting,' she corrected.

'Well gee, I wouldn't want to insult anyone. But at least now when people wonder which of your babies you love the most, we know what the answer will be, don't we?'

She couldn't hide the hurt that flashed across her face, though a moment later it was gone, her features settling into a tight mask as she stood up.

'I'll be sure and thank Wilson for lunch,' she said curtly, moving past him out the door.

He turned in his chair to watch her go. He didn't hear what she said to her trusty assistant, who was back at her desk, but as Cuddy stormed off the gorgon rose and came to stand in the doorway, glowering at him.

'You were just leaving, Dr House?'

He left. Not because of the hefty woman's more than adequate impression of a bouncer at a biker bar, but because he had better things to do. Like track down a certain OB/GYN.

He really didn't have anything against Dr Kubisak, except that he knew how much of a brown-noser he was - guy probably went to Cuddy and offered to provide her pre-natal care the moment he heard she was pregnant. Other than that, he didn't have any reason to believe he was better or worse than any of the other mediocre medical professionals that tended to fill the ranks around here.

But then, people were like big, shiny Christmas presents. If you wanted to know if there was anything interesting inside, you had to give them a good shake.

xxxxx

'Dr Kubisak!' he greeted loudly, having tracked him to the men's room down the hall from the obstetrics lounge.

'House,' the man returned warily, as he looked over his shoulder. Trying to act like he wasn't standing there with his pants open, he continued, 'Something I can help you with?'

He propped himself casually against the counter, took a vicodin, and just watched in silence for a moment, more than happy to impost on the guy in such a vulnerable moment.

'You're seeing our fearless leader tomorrow,' he said finally.

'Ah... yes, Dr Cuddy has an appointment with me.' Kubisak flushed and zipped up hurriedly, moving over to wash his hands. 'And will you be joining us, Dr House? It's always nice when Dad's there to hold Mom's hand,' he said in a mocking tone - apparently his confidence had returned along with his state of dress.

'Sadly, no - Mom's got rules. No public displays of affection in front of the help, or she'll have to get rough with me. And not the fun way, either. Oh, who am I kidding? Every way's the fun way with our resident Mistress of Pain.'

Kubisak looked at him askance. 'Right... Well, gee that's a shame.'

'Yeah. Hey, try not to poke the kid's eye out with the big scary needle.'

'I don't make a habit of poking things I'm not supposed to, House. Can you say the same?'

'_Zing_. Nice one. It's good that you're so confident, treating the big kahuna. Any other guy might be worried about how thoroughly his career would be screwed if anything goes wrong with the _little_ kahuna.' He shrugged. 'Not you, though.'

'Do you have a problem with my standard of care, Dr House?'

'Me? No. But then, I'm not the one you have to impress.' He clapped the other man on the shoulder before moving off. 'I'm sure you'll do fine.'

xxxxx

The following afternoon he was sitting in his office, getting in his daily quota of conscientious non-working hours.

He'd briefly considered crashing Cuddy's appointment, but he didn't really feel the need. He'd already pissed off Cuddy, and intimidated her shiny new doctor - as far as he was concerned, his work was done.

Which was why he wasn't expecting her to show up at his door fresh from her procedure, if the way she was carrying herself was anything to go by. Wary, he watched as she came in and lowered herself gingerly into the chair across from him.

'I know,' she said, 'I should be resting, but first I have something for you.'

Even more unexpected. He figured she'd come to 'talk about it', in the hopes that he'd relent and tell her what a good mommy she really was.

Instead, she was holding out a cotton swab and a sample bag.

'Here,' she said, as he reached across the desk and took the items, 'Swab your cheek.'

He merely looked at her some more. It was the best way to keep her talking.

Sitting back she continued, 'A while ago you said you wanted a paternity test. Well, now's your chance.' She smiled, hands folded over her stomach, like they were chatting about the weather.

Mind racing, he couldn't figure out where she was going with this. 'You don't mind?' he spoke up finally. 'Isn't it a little _insulting_?'

She shrugged and spoke dryly, 'Oh, it's not a complete waste of money or resources - at least we'll be able to definitively rule out immaculate conception.'

'Yeah,' he replied sarcastically, 'That was my number one concern. That, and alien impregnation.'

She just grinned. 'You're forgetting human cloning.'

'Now there's a scary thought. A miniature Lisa Cuddy running around the place? I've had nightmares like that.'

'Except for the part where it's a boy,' she reminded him.

He shrugged. 'Guess we could be looking at a bizarre case of hermaphroditism. I have always wondered about you.'

'Didn't seem to be an issue when we slept together,' she replied boldly. 'What does that say about you?'

'That I'm easy to please.' She laughed in earnest and he considered her, sitting there relaxed and seemingly unaffected by what had transpired yesterday in her office. He toyed with the swab in his hand, gesturing with it. 'I don't need this. I have no problem believing your social life is that lame. If you hadn't gotten me drunk that night, your fields would have remained barren and untouched by man.'

'Does it matter?' she asked, eyebrows raised. 'You always have to know, you told me that yourself. And you don't know until you have proof. But whatever, it's up to you. You'll be the one footing the bill.'

'I'll go halvesies with you.'

'I don't think so. I'm only doing this so you won't feel the need to stick a swab in the baby's mouth as soon as he's born.'

He saw it for what it was, though - this was a peace offering. Though why she felt she needed to make one at all required further thought. At any rate, he wasn't going to turn it down, sticking the swab in his own mouth instead.

He went to pass it back to her and she held up her hands. 'Hey, I'm not one of your lackeys. I've done my part.'

She grinned again, and suddenly he got it - why she was pretending to ignore what had happened yesterday. She clearly wasn't over it, she was just taking the passive aggressive route instead of bitching at him like she usually did when he pissed her off.

And he was going to have to call her on it, because it was pissing _him_ off.

'If you're trying to make me feel guilty with this,' he said, waving the sample at her, 'It's not working. That's more your area of expertise anyway.'

'Like I'd ever bother laying a guilt trip on _you_,' she scoffed. 'Now, I have to go lie down in my office like a good pin cushion. Thankfully, this is why God created laptops.' She got to her feet, her movements careful.

He watched her, the way her hand lingered at her stomach, and tried to hold onto those feelings of non-guilt. He rolled his eyes at himself when it didn't quite work.

'I don't care who your doctor is,' he spat out reluctantly. 'Obstetrics and gynaecology - not exactly brain surgery, is it? Or diagnostic medicine, if we're going to make comparisons.'

'Really.' She didn't look convinced as she stood there leaning on the back of the chair. 'You certainly made enough noise about it yesterday.'

'You're making decisions about your health based on what's good for the hospital. Some might see that as a bad thing. Not me - it's good he won't be an only child. They always turn out to be such mama's boys.'

'Okay, you're right,' she conceded, 'Despite the fact that I practically live here, and should anything happen my doctor would be in the same building rather than three quarters of an hour away, still, Debbie Feao is the best, better than Kubisak. But you're forgetting one important factor - which is, I have to say, downright strange for you.'

His eyes narrowed at her as he came up blank. 'Enlighten me.'

'Why would I need the best OB/GYN in the state,' she asked, 'When I've got you?' He stared at her, and she let out a laugh, shaking her head. 'You really think there's anything that could happen to me, anything I could get, that you wouldn't diagnose five times faster than anyone else, no matter how good their success rates?'

Damn, he thought, she was appealing to his ego. Now he did feel bad for saying that stuff to her yesterday. Well, not really. That wasn't how he worked. He was starting to feel a little more charitable towards her, however.

'You want me to be your doctor?' he asked.

'No. God no. I want you to be you. That's more than enough.'

'Fine. You may continue spending time with this Kubisak fellow. He's competent enough for the grunt work - when the haemorrhoids and constipation hit, he's your man.'

'He's a very good doctor. You're not the only one, you know.'

His eyes dropped to her mid-section. 'He didn't give junior any new orifices?'

She rolled her eyes. 'No. He was very careful.'

'Of course he was.' He smiled to himself at that, earning him a suspicious look from Cuddy. 'Go and lie down somewhere,' he told her. 'Somewhere _else_. Before you start leaking amniotic fluid all over the place. That stuff's hell to get out of the carpet.'

She held up her hands and, surprisingly, didn't argue. 'All right, I'm going.' That was easy, he thought. Right before she stopped and added, 'I knew you'd see things my way eventually.'

And with one last self-satisfied grin, she was gone.

He sat in thought for a moment.

Looking at it one way, it might have seemed like he'd just gotten played, thoroughly and completely. But it was Cuddy's reaction that was the key issue here, and that was what he chose to focus on.

Cuddy had her moments, she wasn't dumb - at times it was downright creepy the way she managed to anticipate him. But more often than not she was far too busy with her obsessive need for everything to be perfect to show that kind of natural insight on a daily basis. That was a fact he'd taken advantage of on more than one occasion.

What had just happened told him, first of all, that she cared about what he thought. Not that he didn't already know that, but it was nice to have the extra confirmation. But more interestingly, that she was paying attention. He was on her mind. A lot.

Having reached this more than satisfactory conclusion, he sat forward and grabbed his ball off its dish, which he then hurled at the connecting wall between his office and the lounge.

He needed a lackey, and lucky for him he had no less than three stashed away next door.

The ball rebounded wildly towards the front of his office where he wasn't going to bother retrieving it, so he hoped that had done the trick. It obviously had, he saw, when Chase appeared, opening up the door and sticking his head through.

'Uh, you need something?' he asked, bemused at being summoned in a such a manner, rather than irritated like Foreman would have been, or disapproving like Cameron.

There were times when Chase really was his favourite lackey. Not that he'd ever let that get out.

'What I need is someone to carry out a mindless errand.'

Chase didn't bat an eye before turning to look over his shoulder. 'Cameron? House wants you,' he said.

A few seconds later Chase had gone back to whatever he was doing before, and Cameron had taken his place. Smartass, he thought with a modicum of approval. Since he wasn't currently punishing Chase for anything, he let it go.

Cameron stood in the doorway, looking at him expectantly, and he pointed across the room. 'First, get my ball.'

'You're welcome,' she snarked at him once she'd fetched it and handed it over.

Cameron, like Chase, was easy to sucker into doing things for him - though their motivations were far removed from each other. The problem with Cameron was what she expected in return - something, as opposed to Chase's nothing.

He ignored the sarcasm, took the ball, and exchanged it for his saliva sample.

'What's this?'

'Secret grownup business.'

'Is it something for Cuddy? She was just in here.'

'Yeah. She's threatening to hit me up for child support. That might just get me out of it.'

A look of understanding passed over her face, followed by surprise. 'You don't know if you're -'

'I need you to run that over to the lab,' he interrupted, making sure to use the three magic words where Cameron was concerned - _I need you_.

It worked like a charm. Almost.

First she stood there staring at him for a moment. He could see the wheels turning in her head. He could just imagine the kind of conclusions she was jumping to right now. Big enthusiastic leaps, more like.

He knew the situation had thrown her, to the extent that he hadn't had to put up with her confronting him about it - yet. She was out of the loop, however, and he knew it was bugging her. It meant that eventually she was going to get over her fear of what he might have to tell her, and just _ask_. But it wasn't going to be today, he saw, as she finally just sighed and nodded.

'Okay,' she said, and then _she_ was gone and he was blissfully alone.

_Women_, he thought. They were nothing but trouble.

Sometimes it was the good kind of trouble, of course, but that was too much of a rarity for his taste.

Grabbing his iPod and putting his feet up on his desk he cued up some jazz just right for zoning out to, determined not to think about any of them for a while.


	24. Adverse Reactions

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

A/N: People keep wanting to know what the MILF mug from a few chapters back was all about. Literally it stands for 'Mom I'd Like to F---'. It's a term generally thrown around by young men/teenage boys (as in 'dude, your mom is a total MILF') so it's pretty much guaranteed to be part of House's vocabulary.

A/N2: Also, for anyone wanting to know whereabouts we are timeline-wise, Cuddy is about halfway through her pregnancy at this point, just over four months along. There's still a lot more story to come... :-D

A/N3: Finally, thank you so much to all my reviewers! All comments, questions, whatever are more than welcome.

xxxxx

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR - Adverse Reactions

xxxxx

Wilson looked up from his desk in surprise as the door to the balcony flew open and House ducked inside. He immediately pressed himself flat against the wall and gestured back the way he'd come.

'Is she out there?'

'Who?' he asked, though he had a fairly good idea.

'Your mom,' House answered sarcastically, and chanced a look around the door jamb, peering through the glass. 'Maybe she didn't see me,' he went on, the coast apparently clear.

'You really think Cuddy was going to vault over the wall? She'll just come around the other way.' The _normal_ way, he thought but didn't say.

'Good point,' House conceded, moving away from his hiding place beside the door. 'You go head her off.'

'No, thanks. What did you do this time, anyway?'

'Please? I'll be your best friend.' Wilson just looked at him. 'You know you're the only person in the whole world that doesn't work on.'

'Because people are lined up around the block to be your friend,' he replied under his breath.

'Drinks tonight,' House countered, ignoring the muttered jibe, 'I'll buy.'

He looked at House for a moment, then held out his hand. 'Gimme your credit card.'

'You are so untrusting. It's sad.'

He gestured again and, rolling his eyes, House pulled out his wallet and handed over the plastic. Wilson didn't even look at it. 'A real one,' he said, 'That isn't maxed out.'

Smirking, House took it back and exchanged it for another which he slapped into Wilson's outstretched hand.

Standing up, he drew his own wallet from his pocket and tucked the card safely away. 'Nice doing business with you,' he said, as he headed out the door.

Cuddy was not, in fact, barrelling down the hall in search of House. He made his way around to the diagnostic department and found her in House's office instead. She was just inside the door, pulling down something that was taped to the glass. He waited till she was done before pushing through the door.

'Hi,' he greeted her warily.

'Have you seen him?' she turned on him immediately. 'Do you know what he's done?'

He realised he hadn't actually established what House had done before embarking on this errand. 'Did he email incriminating pictures of you to everyone in the hospital?' he asked, it being his current benchmark for House misbehaviour.

'Close,' she responded, and thrust the sheet of paper she'd pulled off the inside of the door, tape still attached, into his hand.

Looking down at it, he quickly realised what he was holding - it was House's paternity test results. The pertinent information was circled in red.

'He put it up on his door,' Cuddy was saying. She then brandished another, identical copy. 'This one was stuck to the wall of the elevator. Do you know how many people use those elevators every day?'

So this was what House had been up to today, he thought, biting back any sign of amusement. He had no desire to incur Cuddy's wrath himself.

Throwing up her hands she went on, 'God knows where else he's put them.'

Knowing House, which Wilson did, he wouldn't be surprised if there was a stack of them in the pamphlet stand in the clinic, right next to the information on immunisation and STDs. Or one for every windscreen in the staff parking lot. Considering the look on Cuddy's face right now, he decided not to give voice to these possibilities.

'Do you want to sit down?' he said instead. He was treated to a withering look.

'Oh please. I can be mad and pregnant at the same time, you know. My brain isn't going to melt.'

'No, but I can practically see your blood pressure rising as we speak. And, hey, he has to come back sometime, right? Why don't we wait here and then you can yell at him all you want.' _And not at me_, he added silently.

Somewhat placated - perhaps sensing that he was in fact just trying to be nice and not an evil, patronising man - she sat in one of House's visitor chairs. He hoped for House's sake, however, that he would continue to lay low. Somehow even sitting down Cuddy managed to remain firmly on the warpath.

'What the hell was he thinking?' she said.

He knew people looked to him as the source of all House-related wisdom. And he had a good idea why he might have done this - but his aim for the moment wasn't to provide insight into his friend's motivation so much as it was to calm Cuddy down so that she would give up and go back to work, so that House would get out of his office and _he_ could go back to work.

So he made something up. 'People have been talking - I guess maybe it struck a nerve, he wanted to put some doubts to rest,' he shrugged, as he sat down next to her.

She wasn't buying it for a second. 'He doesn't care what people think,' she replied scornfull. 'He's doing this because he likes driving me crazy.' She sighed in exasperation. 'It's just one thing after another with him lately. I mean if he's not... _calling my mother_ behind my back,' she spat, clearly still harbouring some bitterness over the incident, 'He's sending me weird gifts, or he's breaking into my computer, or sharing private test results with the entire hospital! This is fun for him.'

'You could try ignoring him, it works for five-year-olds,' he offered, but stopped once it became clear she wasn't listening. Instead, she was staring incredulously towards the front of the room. He turned to follow her gaze and saw House out in the corridor, face pressed against the glass, cheeks flaring as he made a blowfish on the door.

He joined Cuddy in staring for a moment. Well, he thought, since House had apparently gotten bored waiting, there didn't seem to be much point covering for him anymore.

Turning back to Cuddy, he said, 'It's attention seeking behaviour. Surely you can see that. He's... just trying to get your attention. ' He glanced back over at House and added, 'Obviously.'

Drawing her attention away from House she focused back on him, gesturing with her the test results still in her hand. 'He's got it.'

'It's... not that kind of attention he's after, I don't think,' he said carefully, and watched her deflate between one breath and the next, a frown marring her features. She didn't say anything, but she didn't have to. He could see she knew exactly what he was talking about. 'What are you going to do?' he asked.

She laughed a little. 'I don't know. Maybe if he stopped acting like a third-grader with a crush...'

He gave her a look indicating exactly how likely he thought that was. She rolled her eyes in response, then as one they looked back over at House, who had by now detached himself from the door. Seeing them watching he grinned unabashedly and started wiping his spit off the glass with his sleeve.

'Well, do something, will you?' he requested mildly. 'It's getting kind of pathetic to watch.'

'I would. Unfortunately the only option that I can think of right now involves taking his cane and...' She stopped herself from finishing with a brisk shake of her head. Getting to her feet instead, she carefully smoothing her skirt and then moved to meet House as he came through the door. 'Don't say a word,' she ordered. 'I don't want to hear it. If there are any more of these, I want them taken down.' She pushed the copy in her hand at House's chest.

For a moment it looked as if she might say more, but then settled for giving House another irritated look as she moved past him.

House was smiling, unconcerned as he tossed his head after her. 'You think she's mad?'

Wilson sighed, watching as House made his way over to his desk and sat. 'You know,' he said casually, 'Some guys just send flowers.'

House snorted. 'That would be counter-productive, seeing as my goal is to get her to never speak to me ever, ever again. I think I'm finally making some headway.'

'Seriously, 'do you want to go out sometime' - not that hard to say.'

'I don't want to date her,' he answered more seriously this time. 'Tormenting her suits me just fine.'

'Well Cuddy's just going to snap and kill you one of these days. Guess that'll be your greatest triumph.'

House sat back in his chair and fixed Wilson with a direct gaze, no hint of flippancy in his demeanour now. 'Have you talked to her lately? Not about me, about the baby. She's reading books on child-rearing, researching local schools... discussing birthing techniques with the nurses. She's happy, excited even - and not just because we recently found out there's no extra limbs or chromosomes sprouting in her tummy.'

'Well clearly she should rearrange her priorities,' he said, unsure where House was going with this.

'It's new, though,' he replied. 'She wasn't like this before. Before, she was too busy wading through about two tons of guilt.'

'So what's changed?' he prompted.

'I told her she was ashamed of her actions. She went out and beat the board into submission. That's the thing with Cuddy, she's the kind of person, you tell her she's fat and she'll eat just to spite you. It's why her necklines get lower every year. She's at her best in defence mode. When she's got something to fight for, something to rail against. There's strength in adversity - Cuddy _needs_ the adversity.'

'So really this whole 'drive Cuddy off the deep end' thing - you're doing it for her sake.'

'Well, it's fun, too.'

'Right. But you don't like her,' he said dryly. 'You're not fooling anyone, you know. Admit it, you like her.' House winced at that, as if it hurt him to hear. He couldn't help but take pity on his emotionally stunted friend, adding more gently, 'It's okay to like her.'

'She's the devil,' House pointed out.

He shrugged. 'It's not like you've ever been religious.'

House was clearly trying not to be amused by that. 'Well she is a hellcat in the sack. Shame I don't date fat chicks.'

'Put _that_ on a sign and hang it on your door. I dare you.'

'There's adversity and then there's suicide.' House thought about it for a moment. 'Fifty bucks?'

He shook his head in refusal. 'You're just trying to get out of picking up the tab tonight.'

'I'd forgotten all about that.' He made an innocent face Wilson didn't buy it for a second.

'Right. You know what? I've got to get back to work,' he said, getting to his feet. This had been more than enough sharing for one day, he thought. He was surprised House hadn't started calling him girls names again.

'Did you see this?' House was pulling something from one of the drawers beside him, forestalling his departure. It was yet another copy of the paternity test.

'Everyone's seen it by now, I'm pretty sure. Seriously, how many copies did you make?'

'This is the original.' He waved it back and forth. 'I think I might have it framed.'

Eyebrows raised at that, he simply waited, looking down at House with his hands on his hips. He knew there had to be more coming.

'And then wrap it up and give it to Cameron for her birthday,' House added.

There it was. 'Yes, let's make sure every woman in your life hates your guts. Then you'll never have to actually deal with any of them.'

'Pick up a couple of cigars for tonight,' House's voice followed him over to the door. 'Nice ones. We're celebrating the proof of my virility, after all.'

There was something, a note in his voice, that made him turn back. 'How does it feel?' he asked.

'It feels... like a good hangover waiting to happen.' House shrugged. 'Come on, it's worth a toast or three at least, we're talking about my offspring here. My baby.' He said the words as if he was trying them on for size.

'Funny how things change,' Wilson mused. 'Up until a few months ago, if you said something like that to me I would have just assumed you were talking about your bike.'

House wasn't vulnerable very often, almost never by choice. When he was, Wilson always found it was the least he could do, making his friend laugh.

Because it _was _funny, the way things were turning out, the way things were changing. But at the same time there were some things that would always stay the same.


	25. Company

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

xxxxx

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE - Company

xxxxx

His night of drinking and debauchery, what he could remember of it, had been a resounding success. Even if it had involved a lot more of the former than the latter - for him at any rate. Wilson, at least, had come out of it with a hot blonde data analyst's number. All _he_ ended up with was a hefty bar tab and the pleasure of spending the following day on the sofa wishing he was dead. It still counted as a success in his book.

He'd sufficiently recovered from the weekend in time to face Monday morning, which was just as well since Cuddy had accosted him with a new case the moment he'd stepped through the main entrance.

'Fifty-five year old male brought into the ER following a choking incident at a restaurant - patient has difficulty swallowing along with -'

'Stroke.'

'Along with spreading numbness. And it's not a stroke, already checked.'

'Not even a little one?'

Grinning, she was already on her way, leaving him with the file and a patient who was dribbling and tingling and who, by the end of the day, had also graced them with bloody diarrhoea and a near fatal arrhythmia.

Of almost as much interest for him, though, was the fact that Cuddy had smiled at him. Apparently she too had put the weekend to good use, and had gotten over his plastering the hospital with confirmation of their successful genetic merger. That was the thing with Cuddy. One day she would be spitting mad, the next sending irritated looks his way, the day after that - well by then he'd usually done something else for her to get mad about.

It didn't seem to matter what he did, it was as if she was physically incapable of holding anything against him for long. He had to wonder what it would take - what he could do to her that she wouldn't forgive. Everybody had a breaking point, he just hadn't found hers yet.

Of course, she was always happy to bring up whatever he'd done in conversation - she seemed to carry a running tally of his many transgressions in her head - but she never could summon much vitriol after the fact. She had the forgiveness part down, if not so much the forgetting.

It was a big step away from Wilson, who didn't bother getting mad as a rule, as if he knew exactly how futile it was. Or Cameron, who gave him big wounded puppy-dog eyes until she finally managed to repress everything like a good little WASP - and then let it out to bite him in the ass at some later point.

He was still paying for having the nerve to sleep with and impregnate another woman. It was the little things that told him she was bearing a grudge. She was still handling his mail, but badly. For instance he'd only found his disabled parking permit renewal form by accident - it had been 'misplaced' under a pile of languishing paperwork, and if he hadn't happened to knock the entire stack off the corner of his desk it would have sat there till his current permit expired.

There were other things, too - Cameron seemed to be able to predict when he was getting to work of a morning and had started making sure there was exactly half a cup of coffee left in the pot when he arrived. She had also begun making a point of reminding him when he had clinic duty - as if he didn't get enough of that from Cuddy. Though maybe that was the point.

And yes, there were the kicked-puppy eyes, like the ones she was aiming at him right now as she stood in his doorway.

'Dr Cameron,' he greeted her, having finally noticed her presence, 'I was just thinking about you.'

It was petty, but he couldn't help enjoying the way those eyes of hers lit up momentarily before narrowing in suspicion.

'They just took him in' she said, coming further into the room to deliver her message. 'Chase is observing.'

The patient would live - another day, another medical mystery solved. He was all done for the week and it was only Tuesday.

What with all the creeping paralysis and risk of heart failure, a little diarrhoea had seemed like the least of the guy's problems - but in the end it had been the key. A previous diagnosis of IBS in the patient's medical history had thrown them off track, but a simple colonoscopy had shown them the abscess, teaming with bacteria, that was currently being drained by some lucky surgeon up in the OR.

He was almost annoyed it had taken him an entire day to catch - but some lazy GP's lazy misdiagnosis was hardly going to sit on his conscience for long. Or at all.

'Foreman's talking with the family, going over treatment,' Cameron added after a moment, forcing him to acknowledge she was still in the room.

'You're missing out on some quality hand-holding time then - don't let me keep you.'

She didn't move.

'No really, don't let me.'

'Are you okay?'

'Well I might be lonely once you're gone, but we won't know that until you actually, you know, _go_.'

'You seem distracted lately - you didn't even notice when I came in.'

He gave her a look and she flushed, self-conscious. 'That's not - ' She stopped and rolled her eyes. 'I meant you notice _everything_.'

'Let me guess, you're feeling neglected? Left out?'

She came closer, till she was standing beside the desk, giving him the sort of look better spent on their patient's family members. 'It's understandable,' she began.

'I'll say, it's called sibling rivalry. New baby comes along, older kids start to wonder whether daddy loves them anymore.'

'It's understandable, you being _distracted_,' she corrected. 'You've got a lot on your mind.'

He sighed. It wasn't easy giving the brush-off to someone so caring it formed an impenetrable shield of empathy around her. He'd have to try a different tack.

'People have sex,' he said.

She blinked, nonplussed at what must have seemed like something a non sequitur, even for him. 'I... know,' she replied finally.

'People have sex, and a small subset of those people have babies. It's a numbers game. We're just lucky the ratio works out the way it does. We could be having a lot less sex and a lot more babies - no way that wouldn't suck.'

'A numbers game? People have babies every day, _you_ don't.'

'I don't have sex every day, either - don't suppose you want to help me out with that instead of coaching me through the emotional minefield of unplanned parenthood?' He looked at her expectantly for a moment. 'Didn't think so.'

'You don't have to pretend it's not affecting you, that's all I'm saying.'

'Sure, but the way you keep insisting on it indicates _you're_ the one who's 'affected' - so what's your deal, jealous of Cuddy? Wishing you were the one expecting little House Jr?'

'No!' she exclaimed. 'I'm _happy_ for you - _and_ Dr Cuddy - is that so hard to believe?'

'From you?' He scoffed. 'No, you would have no trouble genuinely wishing us well while still resenting the hell out of the fact that I've got this thing with her now and not you.'

Hands on the hips - she only did that when she was extra annoyed, and she'd only be that annoyed if he was right. This was further confirmed when she suddenly switched to the offensive.

'Which is what, exactly?' she demanded boldly. 'Are the two of you in a relationship?'

He smiled to himself and thought about telling her the truth - for about a half second. 'That depends, are you going to hunt Cuddy down and try to claw her eyes out if I say yes? Preferably while wearing spangly string bikinis?'

'I don't think you are,' she countered, looking disgusted and - finally - fed up. 'I don't think Cuddy would bother trying to put up with you. And who could blame her?'

He shrugged. 'Some people can't help fighting a losing battle.'

'If they're smart, they'll figure out when to quit.'

'Now I'm all confused - who are we talking about?' He adopted a puzzled expression.

She looked away, vitriol draining out of her, leaving her resigned. She shrugged. 'Does it matter?' She looked back at him for a moment, and then away again, and sighed. 'I'll go... see how the surgery's going.'

He watched her go and couldn't help thinking that maybe he'd broken her heart. Though if he had it wasn't as if it was in any way his fault, especially since he'd never asked her to have a thing for him in the first place. It sucked for her, though, and mostly he just wanted her to get over it - without him having to actually contribute to the process in any way.

Unless it involved the occasional application of verbal abuse, because he was probably going to be doing that anyway.

The problem was, at times talking to Cameron was too much like beating his head against a brick wall. It wasn't productive and it wasn't painless, and after the weekend he'd had enough of headaches to last him a long time.

There was only one thing for it - he needed a place to hide.

Making sure his pager was on, he headed out of his office. First stop was the nearest vending machine, where he hit up a passing gaggle of med students for change. Then once he'd continued on his way and reached his destination, he opened up his soda and chips and settled in for some uninterrupted TV time.

Of course, it wasn't the best hiding place, since pretty much everyone knew about it, but at least here people were less likely to just drop by or hang around for no reason. The old guy in the coma tended to put people off.

xxxxx

'Excuse me, do I know you? Are you a friend of Charles'?'

He should have known the peace and quiet wouldn't last long. It never did.

Annoyed at the interruption, he looked up at the woman who'd just entered the room. Tall, blonde, coiffed and manicured to within an inch of her life, she was in her thirties and extremely attractive, but in a very deliberate sort of way, as if she was expecting to find herself in front of a camera at any moment.

'I'm a doctor,' he said finally, 'Not a visitor - should we try and figure out which one you are, now? I'm going to go with 'visitor'.' She looked at him askance, and he took the chance to further size her up. 'Daughter or wife?' he mused aloud. 'Daughter's more likely given the age, but with the wedding ring, I'm keeping my fingers crossed.'

Recovering her equilibrium the woman narrowed her eyes at him. 'Is there something wrong with my _husband_?'

We have a trophy wife, he thought happily, and smirked up at her as he removed his feet from where they were propped on the edge of the bed.

'Besides being in a near vegetative state?' he replied, reaching for his cane and getting to his feet. 'Nah, the old boy's right as rain, raring to go - well, raring to lie there comatose, if you want to get into specifics. You're seriously the wife?' He looked over at the unconscious man, impressed. He'd had no idea the guy was so loaded.

'Are you seriously a doctor?'

He shrugged and spoke self-deprecatingly. 'I don't like to advertise it. Word gets out, people might expect me to do stuff like treat their medical problems. Got ID around here somewhere...' He patted his pockets and pointed to the door. 'Why don't I go look, leave you to what I'm sure will be a touching reunion.'

'Wait a minute,' she said, following him out. So much for the reunion, he thought. Overtaking him she planted herself in his path. 'If you're a doctor, but you weren't seeing my husband for any medical reason, what were you doing in his room?' she demanded, and then went on before he could do more than open his mouth to reply. 'Because it _looked_ like you were having your coffee break in there.'

'I like your accent - it's interesting,' he said. It was a cheap trick, put the woman off-guard with a personal remark out of left field so he didn't have to come up with an explanation he didn't have - besides the truth, but that would hardly go over well. 'Sounds like up-state Jersey with a few elocution classes, topped off with a year or two in the south of France. You're very tanned, too - been holidaying somewhere nice?'

' Majorca, actually,' she replied in a clipped tone.

'So close. But with plenty of frequent flyer miles racked up what with all those trips to Paris and Milan for the fall fashion, right? So listen - Anna-Nicole, was it? Why don't you go see your husband? Sure, it's not like he's going anywhere, but it _has_ been a while, hasn't it.'

Well that was fun, he thought as he left her standing there, collagen-enhanced mouth gaping indignantly.

'Excuse me,' he heard her demand loudly of a passing nurse, her voice echoing down the corridor after him, 'I want someone to check on my husband's condition right now - and have the linen changed, there are shoe prints on the sheets. And do you know that man? I want him kept out of my husband's room.'

Followed by the nurse's uncertain response, 'Er... maybe I should call Dr Cuddy, Mrs...'

'Stewart. As in Charles Stewart? One of your patients - I assume I don't have to explain what that means? And don't bother, I'm obviously going to have to speak to Lisa about this myself.'

He heard the clicking of high-heels rapidly approaching and he glanced back to see a very unhappy socialite bearing down on him. 'I'm sorry, did you say 'Lisa'?'

'Lisa Cuddy? If you do work here, she's your boss - if not, then she's the one who's going to have you thrown out.'

'Friend of yours, is she?'

'Not that it's any of your business,' she snapped, and continued past him, heading for the elevators.

He followed in her highly agitated wake but stopped at the deserted nurse's station at the end of the corridor. He leaned over the desk and picked up the phone - after all, no one could go running to Cuddy if they couldn't find her.

Page sent, he took a moment to pilfer a handful of Reese's pieces from the sack one of the nurses had stashed in a partly open drawer before moving off again, confident in having made a clean getaway.

'Hey.'

He didn't jump upon hearing Cuddy's voice suddenly from ten feet away, but he did swivel round rather abruptly. He figured he'd have a good five minutes to come up with something, urgent page or no.

'That was fast,' he said, popping candy in his mouth and attempting to look casual.

'I was seeing a patient,' she gestured back over her shoulder. 'I was just on my way to your office, because unlike some people, I actually answer my pages. What's so urgent?'

She had taken one look at him, apparently, and decided there wasn't anything much to worry about. She knew his urgent face, and this wasn't it. He just hoped she didn't realise it was his guilty face, instead.

'You got me,' he conceded. 'I just wanted to... ask you to lunch.'

She turned a shrewd gaze on him. 'What are you up to?' she asked suspiciously.

All right, so maybe she knew his guilty face, too. 'I'm hungry,' he said with a shrug, 'And bored. And you look nice today - really working that whole glowing thing.'

She seemed to hover for a moment between being flattery and disbelief. He just needed to tip the balance in his favour.

'It's just lunch, doesn't usually require too much deliberation,' he chided.

'Because it worked out so well the last time we had lunch?' She continued to waver on the edge of scepticism, but he could tell he almost had her, especially since she'd fallen into step beside him, heading away from the scene of the crime.

'So this can be a do-over.'

'Don't you have a case?' she said. 'I could have sworn I gave you something to do.' As she spoke she flipped open the file she was carrying, frowning slightly as she looked over the contents.

'Patient's sleeping. Well, he was unconscious last I checked - that counts, right?'

She sighed and checked her watch. 'Well, I've got twenty-five minutes. Were you thinking cafeteria or planning another raid on the fridge in the oncology lounge?'

'Let's hit the cafeteria. It's tuna surprise Tuesday.'

' Wilson's onto you, isn't he?'

'He's started hiding my food.'

'_Your_ food?' She glanced up at him, eyebrows lifting in amusement.

The problem was she still wasn't moving fast enough. Distracted by whatever she was reading, she all but slowed to a stop as she pulled a pen from her lab coat pocket and made a note.

He plucked the chart out of her hand and held it away from her, using it as a lure as he started moving again.

'Hey!'

'Come on, I'm on the clock here,' he said, waving the file tantalisingly.

She stared at him for a second, and then frowned, turning to look back the way they'd come. When she faced him again a look of comprehension had taken over her features.

'You _are_ up to something, aren't you?' she accused.

'Up to? Me?'

'You've done something. Or you're about to do something. Is it this case you're working on?'

The good news was, she was moving again. The bad news was, she was going in the wrong direction, heading back down the corridor towards the nurse's station.

So close, he thought as he followed reluctantly. She was behind the desk using one of the computers when he caught up to her.

'Did I mention you're glowing?'

She looked up exasperated. 'Whatever it is, just tell me - you know I'll find out sooner or later.'

'Dr Cuddy?' He looked over to see the nurse from before approaching. 'Mr Stewart's wife was here,' she said, giving him a wary look as she spoke. She was clearly glad to hand the matter off to someone else. 'She said she was going to look for you - I'm not sure what happened but she asked me to make sure Dr House here didn't go back into her husband's room.'

He glared at the woman. 'Thanks a lot, _nark_.'

Cuddy meanwhile was looking at him with growing dread. 'Oh god, what did you do to her?'

'We had a chat. Any woman whose shoes cost more than my bike is worth getting to know, I always say.'

Moving around the desk she spoke very slowly and deliberately. 'The Stewarts have been supporters of this hospital for years. During her husband's infirmity, Olivia Stewart's continued support is _extremely important_ to all of us - House, do you hear what I'm saying?'

'One word, sounds like 'ka-ching'?'

'Exactly. So think very hard about that, about how people like her keep us in MRI machines and genetic sequencing labs and answer me one question. What did you say to her?'

He took a couple of steps backwards so that he was well out of arm's reach, and told her.


	26. Responsibility and Blame

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

A/N: Well, this story has been, shall we say, on hiatus for a while? I'm very thankful to everyone still reading and reviewing, and very sorry to have kept people waiting. But anyway, I'm back, and while I won't make any promises about how often I'll be posting - because I'm not very good at keeping such promises, let's be honest - I at least promise to _try_ to be regular about it, and not disappear again.

Now, on with the fic!

xxxxx

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX - Responsibility and Blame

xxxxx

'I can't believe you.' She resisted the urge to tap her foot impatiently as they waited for the elevator. He just stood there looking bored and not at all repentant.

'Could have told me Mr Snooze back there was a VIP,' he said casually.

'I thought it would just encourage your little visits.'

'Might have,' he conceded easily enough.

'And would you have treated his wife any different when she showed up?'

'Probably wouldn't have called her Anna-Nicole.'

She snorted. 'You would have made a point of it.'

'It's almost a compliment these days,' he mused. 'She lost all that weight, you know.'

Not bothering to favour that with a response, she reached over and pressed the down button a few more times. And when the elevator chose that moment to arrive, even knowing that had nothing to do with it, she found it wholly satisfying all the same.

Preceding him through the doors, she turned and hit the button for the first floor. 'I would have thought you'd be the last person to object to a younger woman in a relationship with an older man,' she remarked as they stood side by side watching the doors close.

She was aware of him shifting to look at her and let the corners of her mouth turn up in a smirk.

'It's not the age difference - sugar daddy meets sweet young thing, that's a match made in dental cavity heaven. But she didn't care that I was in his room, she cared that I didn't kiss her ass - the kind of treatment I'm sure she's used to around here.'

'It's a matter of principle,' she drawled, 'Not that she kicked you out in the middle of General Hospital.'

'Drops in once a year, spends the rest of her time and his money in Europe sleeping with cabana boys -'

'She didn't put him in the coma, she's seeing that he gets the best possible care -'

'Meanwhile ploughing through the family fortune -'

'Since none of the _sizable cheques_ she writes for us have bounced I'd say she's handling her finances just fine.'

'I'm pretty sure if she pays you to say that it doesn't count.'

She sighed. 'You're absolutely right - I mean she's not giving him migraines so she can test experimental drugs on him, or using his chest as a TV tray, but expensive shoes? Clearly she's a terrible person.'

The doors slid open and she cast him a derisive glance before exiting and then moving quickly across the lobby with only a brief glance back to make sure he was coming. He was.

'I'm not apologising,' he said loudly, making sure the entire first floor of the hospital could hear him.

'Then why are you following me?' she replied, pushing through the outer doors and rounding on him when he caught up.

'Because for all the pounds you've been piling on lately, I still enjoy the view.'

'Fine,' she said, holding up her hands, 'Don't apologise.' She looked through into her office, where Olivia was sitting in a visitor's chair, her back to them.

'Olivia Stewart is here to see you,' Marla, who'd been watching all this over the rims of her glasses, informed her dryly.

'Thank you,' she spared the other woman a brief smile before turning back to House. 'You, stay here and wait while I go in there and take care of this.'

'Not saying sorry,' he sing-songed.

She ignored him. 'Don't let him leave. Sit on him if you have to,' she directed Marla as she reached for the door handle.

'Would you care to take a seat, Dr House?'

'As long as you don't. Talk about piling on the pounds.'

She blocked out the exchange, quickly stepping through and closing the door after her. She took a calming breath and then turned.

'Olivia, it's good to see you,' she began, moving into the room as Olivia rose to greet her.

'Lisa - goodness, look at you,' she said as her eyes dropped to waist-height. 'I hadn't heard. Well, congratulations.' She came forward to kiss her cheeks.

'Thank you,' she replied, squeezing her hands and then gesturing for her to move over to the sofa. 'Why don't we have a seat?'

'Of course, I just wish I was here to see you under different circumstances - I'd love to hear all about it.'

Cuddy doubted that, somehow, but she wasn't keen to divulge any of the particulars, anyway. House was right, Olivia Stewart was hardly a regular visitor. Thankfully, she also wasn't the type to chat with staff, so it was unlikely the matter of paternity would come up to complicate the situation. No, the woman showed up a few times a year, resisted any suggestion of having her husband transferred to a permanent care facility, always making sure to mention her annual contribution if anyone pressed the issue.

'I'm so sorry about this,' she said once they were settled, mentally calculating how many times over the years she'd had to placate someone House had insulted - and wishing she had ten bucks for every instance. 'Dr House is waiting outside to apologise, on top of which you have my personal assurance that it won't happen again.'

'Honestly, it's absurd it happened at all - who does this Dr House think he is?'

Smile fixed firmly in place, her mind raced as she tried to come up with a good excuse for House's atrocious behaviour. It wasn't as if she'd never found herself in this position before.

What she knew of this woman, however, was that she loved a good cause - or more specifically, being seen as sympathetic to them. So she leaned forward, dropped her voice discreetly as if she was about to confide some great secret, and prepared to lie her ass off.

'Dr House,' she began, 'Is something of a special case...'

xxxxx

'Dr House,' Olivia said quietly as the two of them exited her office.

The man in question looked up from where he was making a paper airplane out of an informational pamphlet - there were already several littered around Marla's desk, she noticed - and regarded them warily.

'I just wanted you to know, you should feel free to visit my husband as much as you want. I understand any interruption to your routine - well. You know, I'm sure Charles' appreciates the company. I can't visit as much as I'd like to...'

House just blinked up at her as if she was speaking a different language. Cuddy had to bite her cheek to keep from smiling, managing a reassuring nod when Olivia looked toward her uncertainly.

'I'm sure you want to go up and sit with him now,' she said. 'And again, I'm so sorry -'

'No, no, it's fine. Lisa,' Olivia put out a hand towards her, 'We really should lunch while I'm in town. Dr House,' she turned back to him and spoke slowly and deliberately, 'It was nice to meet you.'

She watched the woman go. House rose beside her, his attention solely on her, now.

'What did you say to her?'

'You don't want to know.'

'Oh I really do.'

She shrugged. 'I just told her what a gifted physician you are.'

'And?'

'And... that we have to make allowances for you because your genius comes at a terrible price.' She paused for a moment. 'I may have used the words 'rain man'.'

Over at the desk, there was a snort of amusement.

'Oh god,' House groaned, wincing.

'And implied that her comatose husband is your only friend in the world,' she added, unable to stop the grin from appearing this time.

He leaned back, craning his head to look behind her. 'I think you'll find that burning smell is your pants going up in flames.'

She rolled her eyes. 'You're welcome,' she said, and ducked back into her office, unsurprised when he came lumbering through the doorway after her.

'Oh come on, that little manoeuvre wasn't for me - you were just keeping the cash cow happy.'

'I'm sure no one would have any problem with you chasing off another contributor just because you don't like how she came by her money. Anyway,' she sighed, and confessed, 'It's partly my fault - I knew Olivia was coming today - I got a note about it weeks ago. I completely forgot. I've been forgetting things, I'm not used to having a mind like a sieve. I know what you're like, you can bet if I'd remembered I would have found something to keep you busy today.'

'It's your fault you didn't stick a post-it to your computer,' he agreed.

'Thanks for the pep-talk,' she muttered as she moved around behind her desk. She didn't sit, though, she had a meeting to get to.

'But I like how you keep telling yourself you've got some measure of control over me,' House went on. 'Of course, if you do, then really anything I do is your fault, leaving me absolved of all responsibility. I can get away with anything. Nice.'

'And that would be different from the current state of things, how exactly? It's not my fault you're a lunatic,' she told him as she pulled open her top drawer. 'But it is my responsibility to try to stop you from doing crazy things - and to clean up the resulting mess when you do them anyway.' She kept a box of granola bars in her desk and produced one now.

'So much for lunch,' House said, watching her.

'So much for your clever diversionary tactic, you mean. Now if you don't mind, I was supposed to be somewhere five minutes ago.'

He reached out and stopped her as she passed. He looked, not contrite, she thought, but something. Regretful, perhaps.

'Do you want me to apologise?' he said.

Her first instinct was to laugh, but then she realised he was being serious. She frowned instead, confused. 'A bit late now, our big donor is happy again and -'

He rolled his eyes. 'Not to her, to you. I've been... irritating you lately.'

She continued to stare up at him. 'And... what else is new?'

'Ah, but you,' he pointed at her accusingly, as if she was one being exasperating, instead of the other way around, 'Expect too much from people, so they can't help but disappoint you. Which makes it your own fault, you know, not theirs.'

'You... don't apologise, especially not to me. I don't expect you to.'

He gave a one-shouldered shrug. 'Sometimes I do. When I actually mean it.'

'House -' She stopped, shaking her head. 'Apologising for everything you do that makes my life difficult would take too long,' she told him at last. 'And I'm already late.'

'I didn't say I was going to.' He got in one last word as she swept past him.

She didn't respond. She really was late, and she didn't have time to deal with his - whatever this was. His problem du jour. It was always something. But as she headed back towards the elevators she couldn't help thinking, _what now_?

xxxxx

She was looking forward to getting home that night, returning to her blissfully quiet house. Her mother had finally gone - after all manner of hints had fallen on deaf ears, she'd eventually resorted to making up an excuse. But she really _did_ need to start converting the guest room into a nursery, and she _would_ be having painters in soon - just not as soon as she'd led her mother to believe. For this to happen her guest had to vacate the premises.

She loved her mother, of course, and for the most part had enjoyed getting to spend time with her, but her constant presence had definitely been wearing a little thin by the time she'd hugged her goodbye. And she could definitely do without the running commentary on her lifestyle, her diet, her work hours, her domestic habits... Not to mention her lack of a relationship - and no, apparently 'whatever is going on between you and that man' didn't count.

At least they agreed on something.

'And what do I tell people?' her mother had said on the drive to the airport.

'How about I'm happy and successful,' she'd replied, 'That I wouldn't change a thing?"

'Well, if you think lying about it is the way to go...'

She'd tried to keep in mind that her mother's sense of humour was something they actually shared, and that this was a good thing - when it wasn't being aimed her way.

All this meant that she was appreciating having her house to herself again, all the more conscious of it because it wouldn't be for much longer, this solitude. The thought was as thrilling as it was distracting, and as she went to let herself in she almost didn't notice what was lying on her front door step.

There was a bunch of flowers at her feet, very close to being trampled. She picked them up and got the door open, and once inside deposited her things in the living room so she could inspect them more closely. There was a plain white card tucked in the paper, handwritten in a familiar scrawl: _This was Wilson's idea._

They were a bit squashed, she noticed, and pictured him transporting them on his bike, leaving them for her to find. She was smiling and in the next breath she wasn't, she was sitting down in the closest armchair and wishing she was allowed to drink.

Since she couldn't, though, she realised she was going to have to deal with it. Enough was enough.

Grabbing her purse from the end table, she found her cell phone and then House's number.

He answered after a few rings in his usual manner. 'Yeah.'

'What are you doing?' she demanded.

'What are you wearing?' he countered.

'_Flowers_?'

There was a pause. 'You're usually quicker on the uptake than this. You think our kid's going to be highly intelligent like me, or only moderately intelligent with intermittent spells of dumb, like you?' There was another pause. 'Too far?'

'No,' she said carefully, 'That was perfect.'

'Look -' he began with a huff, but she cut him off.

'You don't want this, not really. It's new and interesting, and it might keep you amused for a while but what about after that? When you're bored and all you want to do is hang out with Wilson and obsess over your cases? I'll just be stuck nagging you about changing diapers and when you'll be home - _if_ it lasts that long, which it probably won't. I get enough of that at work.'

'You've put a lot of thought into this.'

'It's not what you wanted to hear, and I'm sorry.'

'No, I love it when someone tells me what I want, makes me fell all warm and fuzzy inside. Especially when 'here's what I think you want' really translates to 'here's what I think of you'. Hey, at least now I know, right?'

His tone, sharp and sarcastic, was intended to hurt and in the time she was swallowing back a heated retort he had already hung up.

She let the phone drop to her lap, stung if not very surprised. Leaning over, she retrieved the flowers she'd set down on the coffee table, and regarded them impassively.

She'd never operated with blinders on when it came to House. Maybe he wanted her, for now - or thought he did. But every time she began to entertain the possibility that something more could happen between them, he did something to remind her what was at stake.

Which was more than just the two of them, their jobs - and their hearts. She smoothed her hand over her swelling abdomen and wished things were more simple. But of course, nothing was ever simple where House was concerned.

The problem now was he almost certainly wouldn't see things her way. He was like a pit bull, once he latched on to something it was near impossible to get him to let go, and frankly, she was starting to feel like a rather mangled chew toy.


	27. To Have and to Hold

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

A/N: This one's just a quickie. For the reviewer who wanted to know, at this point in the story Cuddy is about five months along.

xxxxx

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN - To Have and to Hold

xxxxx

He leaned on the intercom button, knowing exactly how welcome the noise would be racketing through Wilson's apartment before seven am.

'_Yes_?'

Wilson sounded bright and cheerful. House smiled to himself. 'Testicle Collection Agency, we're here to pick up your unwanted goods.'

There was only the slightest of pauses. 'Good morning, House. Come on up.'

The door buzzed and he reached for it.

A short elevator ride later, he was outside Wilson's apartment, Wilson at the threshold waiting for him. 'You haven't gotten 'am' and 'pm' confused again, have you? You do realise it's six-thirty in the _morning_.'

'Your monumental case of bedhead tells me all I need to know. What's for breakfast? I'm starving.'

Wilson opened his mouth, and closed it again.

Then he reached for his coat, hanging up by the door.

'I cook enough for you, we're going out.' He took two steps into the hall, stopped, and went back inside. 'Just... let me get dressed.'

xxxxx

He had his food, he had his coffee - it wasn't great coffee, but it was brown and caffeinated - and he was happy. Well, content anyway. He'd be even more content if Wilson didn't keep shooting him those looks with absolutely zero subtlety.

Determined to ignore it, he ate a syrup-smothered strawberry, washed it down with coffee, ignored Wilson some more, looked around for the waitress because he needed a refill, and that was when his little cone of silence was rudely shattered.

'Okay,' Wilson said with a huge sigh, 'Whatever it is just... spit it out.'

'What?' He feigned innocence around a mouthful of waffle.

'There's obviously something. You're brooding so hard you haven't even tried to steal any of my food.'

He swallowed. Much as he didn't want to talk about this, it was partly Wilson's fault, he remembered, suddenly feeling the urge to share.

'Cuddy,' he said, 'Thinks I don't want her. She used to think I did, and it's not like I wasn't perfectly willing to sleep with her before - now, not so much. Want to know exactly how and why this is your fault?'

Wilson nodded, as if everything suddenly made perfect sense. It was irritating.

'So you told her how you feel, and it didn't go well,' he said.

'I did what you suggested - that was my first mistake. And then I insulted her intelligence. It went downhill from there.'

'Smooth.'

'I've always been a hit with the ladies. Cuddy thinks I don't want her, Cameron meanwhile has decided she doesn't want me - they should hook up with Stacy, who did want me as long as I didn't want her back. The three of them can form the We Hate House Club and stick pins in the eyes of little me-shaped voodoo dolls.'

'You really think it's the eyes they'd focus on?' Wilson responded mildly.

He reached over and grabbed Wilson's entire serving of bacon off his plate. 'You aren't supposed to eat this stuff. Your people frown on it.'

'You want my advice?' Wilson said, and then ploughed ahead before he could say hell no. 'Forget Cameron, _seriously_ forget Stacy. Stop being you for five minutes, and while you're at it, stop treating Cuddy as if she's Cuddy.'

'Please tell me I should be treating her like a naughty schoolgirl, I could definitely get behind that. Ooh, or a harem girl. Or maybe one of those chicks from Cirque du Soleil who can bend their knees behind their -'

'In this case she isn't Cuddy,' Wilson went on, apparently unaware House was still speaking, 'She's just a woman, like any other woman.'

He stopped rhapsodising about the wonders of very bendy women to ask, 'Is that the same kind of woman you've destroyed three marriages with?'

'Before I lost them I actually managed to get them,' Wilson pointed out. Which was actually a good point, not that House was going to admit it. 'You want her, you're going to have to suck it up and tell her what she wants to hear - that you'll be there for her, that you want to make a commitment... Throw in those three little words and you'll be picking out china patterns in no time.'

'I've never felt more sorry for the future fourth Mrs Wilson than I do right now.'

'I'm telling you to be a man.'

'The dangly bits between my legs say I'm already one of those.'

'And now you just have to act like it.'

'Hit her over the head with my cane and drag her back to my cave?'

'Stop whining, step up and take some responsibility.'

'My way's more fun.'

He smirked as Wilson rolled his eyes and muttered something about Cuddy being the one they should feel sorry for.

'Cuddy,' he said. 'Where's my sympathy? She's only doing this to be annoying. Because _she's_ annoying.'

'Women are annoying,' Wilson agreed. 'Why is that? Because they have what we want?'

'Because they should be the answer to all our problems but they usually aren't.'

'Of course, it makes sense when you put it like that.'

Wilson held up his cup for the waitress who'd finally arrived with their refills. House went back to work on his waffles. They were cold now, of course, and he sent a grim look Wilson's way for that.

'Annoyed' was his mood of choice this morning - partly Wilson's fault, yes, for encouraging the situation, but mostly, it was Cuddy's.

Just for being her.

He couldn't seem to reclaim any sense of normalcy. He wanted his life back, his crappy TV shows and his vicodin and his work, but he was distracted. He'd known her half his life and suddenly she was everywhere - Wilson always wanted to talk about her and his parents were crazy about her and even when he escaped her hospital he couldn't stop thinking about her, which led to him doing idiotic things like leaving flowers on her doorstep on the off chance it might increase the likelihood of him getting to sleep with her again.

And of course it wasn't just her - no, it was the two of them. They were a package deal, an instant family, and it was all so very normal. There was nothing particularly out of the ordinary about this situation. It happened to people every day, and yet it was something that had always seemed out of reach for him. Something he never thought he'd have, or be able to hold onto if he did.

Maybe she was right about that. He didn't really care.

xxxxx

It took her longer than it should have to answer. He pictured her looking at her phone, the creasing of her forehead when his number appeared on the screen.

'House, what is it?' she said without preamble, when she finally answered. Her voice, he noticed, was harried, she sounded out of breath.

'You're either in labour or having sex - either way, I'm so glad I called.'

'I'm not - I'm out jogging. Do you need something?'

She'd stopped moving now, he could tell, and by her apprehensive tone she was hoping he had some dire medical issue to badger her about. It was almost a shame not to oblige her, he did so like to badger her, but...

'You can't do it,' he informed her, keeping his tone light and conversational. 'You can't divide your life up into neat little boxes marked 'personal' and 'professional' and expect everything to fit. Things overflow. They get messy. Your neat, ordered little world will dissolve into chaos, and you won't be able to stop it.'

There were a few more heavy exhalations on the other end of the line before she replied. 'As long as it's my responsibility to keep you employed and make sure the hospital is running smoothly, I'm going to try anyway.'

'It's not what you want.'

'We all make sacrifices.'

'Oh now you know platitudes will get you everywhere.'

'I just meant -'

He didn't let her get more than a few words out. 'You just meant this is your decision so butt out; I just meant this conversation would have been a lot more interesting if you'd been having sex.'

He hung up, not at all dissatisfied with the abrupt end to the call, as he imagined she was. He'd gotten what he was after.

Beside him, Wilson was dividing his attention between watching the road and staring at him incredulously.

'Please tell me that wasn't an improvement on the other call.' He sighed when there was no response. 'Well, some people are just no good at talking on the phone. Or at all.'

House, though, was smiling. 'It's not what she wants,' he said.

'You being rude and abrasive, _that's_ what she wants.'

Settling back in the seat and relaxing for the first time, it felt like, since last night, he rolled his head in Wilson's direction and said, 'Guess I'm in luck, then.'

He'd just regained control of the board, of course he was relaxed - with his next move clear in his mind and being in no particular hurry it was as much a soporific as sex. Right now he was looking forward to getting to the hospital, in fact, so he could find someplace quiet to take a well-deserved nap.

And as for Cuddy, not to mention Wilson and his look of resigned disapproval -

'Just wait,' he said.


	28. A is for a Lot of Things

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

xxxxx

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT - A is for a Lot of Things

xxxxx

Over the next few days, House avoided her, and she spent too much time asking herself if she'd done the right thing. And if not, what was the alternative? House had made an overture, she'd rejected it. And she could believe he did care about her, in his own dysfunctional way, but this was House, she knew him, and even disregarding concerns about their jobs - which were not insignificant - she just couldn't see it working.

But that didn't stop her thinking about it, and at the same time half-wishing he would call her again just so that she could be the one to make some kind of cutting remark and then hang up on _him_ for a change.

And she had no lack of time to do so - House avoiding her meant the quietest few days she'd had in a while. At one point, when the embargo between Diagnostics and the Dean's office had been lifted out of necessity, Foreman had appeared with a procedure for her to sign off on.

'House wishes he could be here,' he'd said with a roll of his eyes, expressing exactly how he felt about being caught in the middle of things, 'But he's too busy upstairs encouraging people to refer to you as 'She Who Must Not Be Named'.'

She was not, however, glad of the reprieve, because it felt too much like the calm before the storm. Which, when it eventually hit, it was in the form of House blindsiding her one night as she was walking out to her car.

One moment she was alone, the next his shoulder was jostling hers as he adjusted his uneven gait to keep pace with her.

'What's 'A',' he said, 'And why are you having dinner with it?'

She blinked, neither prepared for his sudden appearance, nor the abrupt questioning, and said, 'Haven't seen much of you this week.'

He produced a small yellow square of paper in response, and held it in her eye-line. It had the words 'Dinner with A' written on it, and looked suspiciously like a post-it that she had last seen stuck to the edge of her computer monitor - after the Olivia Stewart fiasco she'd been taking no chances with lapses in memory. She reached up to take it from him but he quickly moved it back out of reach.

She shot him a sideways glance, pursing her lips. 'What have I got to do to keep you out of my office? Lay down a mine field? A moat and drawbridge?'

''A' is for a lot of things - adulterer, alcoholic, archfiend, asswipe. You could at least give me a clue - animal, vegetable or mineral? And is he going to get any?'

She rolled her eyes as they reached the door leading out to the parking garage. He moved to hold it open for her and she muttered as she passed under his arm, 'I suppose a set of stairs would work just as well.'

'The more flustered you become, the snarkier you get. Really didn't want me finding out about your hot date, did you?'

'Maybe I'm flustered because I'm worried you're going to try something, forcing me to turn you down and be cast once again as the evil bitch in the soap opera that is your life.'

He stopped walking, and she had to resist the urge to look back at him. 'I'll take that as a yes on the hot date,' he called after her.

And her resolve failed. Or maybe he was just that annoying. 'The 'A' is for accountant, House,' she told him witheringly, as she rounded on him. 'I'm having dinner with my accountant while we go over a few things, all right?'

At her words he began lumbering towards her again. 'Is that what they're calling it these days?'

'Yes, House,' she looked down, digging in her purse for her keys. '_Marjorie_, my accountant, and I have been having a torrid affair for the past eight years - never mind that she's happily married, or a woman.'

'That'd just make it more interesting. For me to picture.' As he drew close she moved away towards her car which was parked nearby, pressing the button to unlock it. 'So,' he said, following at a more sedate pace, 'You're going to get 'flustered' every time I come near you? We work together. This could get weird.'

'Thanks to no small effort on your part.' She loaded her laptop case into the backseat and as she did so he took up residence casually lounging against the driver side door, effectively cutting off her escape route.

'This dinner, is it baby stuff?' he asked.

'Not everything is about the baby.'

'But this is, or you would have just said 'no'. You realise trust fund babies have a bad habit of being high-maintenance little monsters.'

'Thank god he'll have such a well-mannered, low-maintenance father to set a good example for him.' Arms crossed over her chest, she really didn't think the man actively preventing her from getting in her car was one to talk about being high-maintenance. 'Besides, I'm just making sure he can pay for college. We're not talking millions here.'

'_We're_ not talking anything.' He swung his cane petulantly, hitting the side of the car with every back-swing. She leaned her shoulder nonchalantly against the car beside him, steadfastly ignoring the fact that he was probably marking the hell out of her paintjob. 'You don't want me around,' he said. 'You don't want my money. Makes sense, the more I pay, the more say I get. Your money, your kid.'

'Oh for...' She cast her eyes upwards in a silent bid for patience, took a deep breath, and said, 'I want you involved, House. Is that what you want me to say? I want you to do this with me. I want you to care about the baby - and me - enough to be there for all the stupid stuff you hate! Okay?'

He looked unconvinced. 'Really.'

'Yes, you know that, of _course_ you know that.' She stared at him. 'How can you _not_ know that?'

He rolled his eyes suddenly. 'The thing you always seem to forget is how extremely transparent you are. Of course I _know_. I've suspected since you got so pissy every time I told you how not interested I was in any of this. And I've _known_ since you stood in front of the board of directors and told them you were having my baby and they could like it or go to hell.'

She continued to stare at him, and when she spoke it was a struggle to keep her voice even. 'So this was just a test? You wanted to, what, see how far you could push me?'

'If you can admit it, means you want it more than you're afraid of it.'

'I'm not afraid of you.'

'You're afraid of what I might do to you. Get involved, get bored, maybe you get too fat or maybe I realise you were never that great to begin with. I abandon you and you spend the rest of your life cursing the day you ever laid eyes on that handsome devil, Greg House.'

'You're not that scary,' she said, slow and deliberate, determined for it to be true. 'And there are a lot of reasons why this would be a bad idea, House -'

'Really.'

Pushing himself away from the car, he wheeled around and was closer suddenly, crowding her space. His hands were on the buttons of her coat, the touch abrupt and alarming in its intimacy. Her mouth dropped open and she raised her eyes to his.

'Has he moved yet?' he said. His hand slid inside her coat and over her lower abdomen.

She found herself nodding. 'Yes.'

'It's been, what, a few weeks?'

She nodded again. 'No... kicks or somersaults yet, I didn't even realise what I was feeling at first.'

His thumb slipped between two of her blouse buttons and found her skin. She pressed her lips together as his head dropped lower and he spoke in her ear, 'This is as personal as it gets, and you don't have to let me in on any of it, but if you don't that's you doing it, not me. So don't go blaming me five years from now when Junior here wants to know why Daddy never calls.'

She closed her eyes. Her hand found his, still pressed against her, and was torn between removing it and holding it there. 'How can you be such a bastard?'

She felt him touch her hair, brushing it behind her ear, an oddly tender gesture.

'That's not what you're asking. You want to know, if I'm such a bastard, how come you still want to sex me up so badly?'

She let out a laugh that was full of unshed tears and opened her eyes. He was so close, and she knew before he moved that he was going to kiss her. She had plenty of time to turn her head. Instead she met him halfway, and somehow it was sweet, even through the hurt.

It was sweet, and it was brief, and then she did turn away, reaching over to open the car door. 'Get in,' she told him, her voice rough as she slid out from between his body and the side of the car and did the same.

This was a public place. There were other people besides them leaving for the night - not to mention the security cameras mounted around the garage. She was conscious of him moving around behind the car, opening the passenger side door and climbing in, knowing exactly what this would look like to anyone watching.

To anyone watching, it would look like a woman talking to a man, kissing him, inviting him into her car. Which would be both correct and completely wrong at the same time.

When she finally looked over at him he was right there, a hand on her face, drawing her towards him again. Firmly, a hand on his chest, she pushed him away.

The mutinous look on his face, the firm grip she kept on his shirt front as she maintained the distance between them, helped to steel her resolve. She reminded herself that everything with him was a negotiation.

'You know I care about you,' she told him bluntly. 'You know I'm attracted to you. But so what? House, not so long ago you were making it very clear you weren't interested in playing happy families. What exactly do you see us doing here?'

He didn't say anything but his eyes took on a more calculating look, one that was stubborn, and shrewd, and a stark contrast to the way he had been looking at her moments ago as he stood over her with his hand on her belly. She stared him down. He wouldn't get anything more out of her until he gave her some answers.

'Kids don't need two parents and a picket fence,' he said finally, looking away. Her hold on his shirt relaxed. He was talking. Maybe he would even tell her the truth. 'They need to be safe, and they need to be loved. My mom... was great at that. My dad wasn't. You've got it covered, you don't need me, I get it - I'm a bad investment. Too many risks, not enough payoff.'

He looked over at her for confirmation. She didn't deny it, and he turned his face up, away from her, in that way he did whenever he didn't want to talk about something.

'This is the kind of thing that's not likely to happen to me again. And believe it or not, I do know this isn't some cool new toy to play with. The thing is, if I'm going to find out if I can do this at all, I need to do it now, before the kid's old enough to know the difference. And I need you to let me.' He huffed, attempting a disgruntled tone that didn't quite work alongside his candour. 'I hate that I'm working under a deadline here. I don't do well under pressure.'

'Yes you do.' Her voice when she spoke sounded high and unsteady. She cleared her throat. 'We don't need to... be together for you to act like a father, House. So why -'

'That part's just because I want to.' He shrugged, nonchalance settling over him once more. 'Why not?'

So, so many reasons, she thought. But something had to give, and she knew it wasn't going to be House. It was never House. She took a deep breath and what she said was, 'Okay.'

He nodded once. 'Excellent,' he said, and looked so satisfied, not to mention so utterly unsurprised, she could have happily socked him one.

'That's it?' she demanded, under-whelmed by this reaction.

'Yep.'

'Right. Great.' She threw up her hands and sat back in her seat, staring out the windscreen. 'Well, now that's settled, you can get out, and I can go.' She looked back over at him pointedly and made a shooing motion.

There was a little of that surprise she'd been after. 'You're kicking me out? But you caved. You caved, like you always cave, and now we have to celebrate. Your total and utter caving, that is.'

She spread her hands. 'I can't, hot lesbian dinner date, remember?'

'Oh that. Well since I'm coming too, we can celebrate later.'

She paused. 'You want to come?'

'Yes,' he answered slowly. Then he stopped and rolled his eyes. 'I know you flunked out of Relationships 101 but this is how it works.' The _dumbass_ on the end of his statement was unspoken, but heavily implied.

She was frowning slightly as she got the key in the ignition and started the car. 'This is going to take some getting used to,' she said.


	29. The Opposite of Optimism

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

A/N: A big thank you to all my reviewers - especially my regulars who never miss a chapter, you know who you are! I'm really glad people seem to be enjoying this story.

xxxxx

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE - The Opposite of Optimism

xxxxx

'Hey.' He joined House as he crossed the foyer, trying not to seem as if he'd been lying in wait. Even though that's exactly what he had been doing. House barely grunted an acknowledgement, letting Wilson push the call button for the elevator. 'So,' he prompted, 'How'd it go?'

House smiled to himself at that, letting the question hang in the air, unanswered, until the doors opened and they had both stepped through. 'She's testing my resolve,' he said finally.

'And how's it holding up?' Wilson had to ask.

'We're going shopping for nursery fittings this weekend,' came the incongruous reply.

'So...' he moved to the back of the car to make room for more passengers on the second floor. 'You're strapping on a parachute, about to make the jump to freedom?'

House just looked at him.

'I know. Divorced three times. It's a shocker. But,' he shrugged. '_Shopping_. Don't try to tell me you're looking forward to it.'

House shrugged back. 'She wants me to be 'involved'. She wants my input on things. So I'm giving it to her.'

'Oh boy.'

'Wasn't that your thing - be a man, give her what she wants? Soon she'll be Cuddy-putty in my hands?'

It was his turn to give House the 'are you kidding me' stare. 'You're driving her crazy, basically.'

'Giving it my best shot.' The doors opened again on the fourth floor and as he followed him down the corridor, House was digging for his cell phone in his pocket. 'Hold on,' he said over his shoulder, coming to a halt, 'I just had a thought.'

Wilson waited for whatever one-sided conversation he was about to be presented with and tried not to cringe. It would only egg House on.

Not that he needed it, Wilson reflected as House let loose a stream of words, cell phone at his ear.

'I've been giving some thought to the 'wood vs. wicker' debate. I know you're leaning towards wood, which I can only think must be some kind of Freudian thing, but you know, shabby-chic is just so in at the moment I think we'd be cheating ourselves if we didn't give the matter serious - hm?' He stopped talking to listen for a moment before scoffing, 'A meeting! How important is some meeting compared to the -' This time he took the phone away from his ear and looked at it in mock consternation. 'She hung up on me. What's that about?'

House closed the phone. He dropped it back in his pocket, smiled and said, 'Relationships are so much fun.'

xxxxx

He didn't quite know what he'd been expecting, possibly that House would continue to sabotage himself such that he never managed to get anywhere with Cuddy. Now that he apparently had, Wilson felt the need to speak to the woman in question as soon as was humanly possible.

And after what he had just seen of House's end of the deal, possibly administer a mental capacity exam.

Unfortunately, he had more than one patient a week to treat, unlike some people, which meant he didn't have time to track her down till late morning. She was seated in the arm chair just inside the door when Marla waved him through with a muttered, 'Good luck.'

It didn't bode well, and he hovered in the doorway, wishing suddenly he'd thought up a legitimate excuse to be here. 'Hey.'

She had her toes hooked on the edge of the coffee table, her laptop set up nearby, and she glanced up at him distractedly, asking, 'Do my ankles look swollen to you?'

He couldn't imagine a possible world where he would answer 'yes' to that question. 'Uh, no, not at all.'

'They feel swollen.' She rubbed the bridges of her feet. He found himself looking down at her shoes, kicked off under table. 'Don't,' she said, apparently sensing his thoughts.

He didn't. Thinking quickly, he said, 'You know the elevators are down out there?'

'Twenty minutes,' she replied. 'That's the latest estimate. Meanwhile, House is up on the fourth floor throwing SOS messages from his balcony in protest.'

He couldn't help a small show of amusement. Which she apparently did not share.

'Go ahead and laugh, you didn't have to deal with the guy who almost got brained by a stapler with a note wrapped around it saying 'help, I'm a prisoner of the establishment'.'

It was still funny, near-fatal accident and all, but all he said was, 'He knows there's elevators down the other end of the floor, right?' Cuddy looked at him. 'Of course he does,' he amended quickly and contritely. 'He's just being... him.'

'Shouldn't have to _walk_ that far, apparently. Did you need something?' she said suddenly, looking up at him as if his presence had only just now registered.

'No, just,' he spread his hands causally, 'Wondering how things are.'

'You mean besides the elevators, wanting to strangle certain members of the maintenance team, my feet killing me and House trampling on my last nerve?'

'Right. Stupid question.' He moved around and settled onto the sofa. 'So, you and House...' It was not, he realised, the most subtle segue he'd ever made.

'Me and House? What about us?' She frowned, adding, 'What has he told you?'

He shrugged. 'Hardly anything, but from what I see it's not exactly roses and candlelit dinners.'

For some reason, inexplicably, she smiled at that. 'Well, it's House. It's about what you'd expect.'

'I know it's none of my business -'

'Do you?'

Eyebrows raised at him pointedly, he conceded with a nod. 'All right, so I do consider it my business, and you're both just going to have to put up with my obsessive need to monitor the situation as it unfolds.'

She looked amused. 'Especially if we crash and burn, because House will want to take you down with him?'

'A fairly dour prediction - I thought you were supposed to be an optimist.'

'I said 'if'.'

'You're not convinced,' he said with a sinking feeling, and she sobered at the pronouncement.

'He's House,' she said finally, helplessly, and when her phone rang a few seconds later, she seemed relieved. Until she got up and moved over to the desk to answer it. 'No... _No_. I don't know, because anatomical cross-sections stencilled on the walls doesn't say 'happy baby', it says 'Ted Bundy lives here'?'

She glanced up at Wilson, giving him a pointed look that said _see what I mean?_

And it wasn't as if he didn't, but it was times like this he was reminded that he and Cuddy saw different sides of House. More often than not, she got the jackass, the employee who lived to make her life difficult. Up till now, she had always been House's boss before she was anything else.

He didn't think they trusted each other, not under these circumstances. The phone calls were a key indicator. If Cuddy, as House had said, had him on probation, he was just as clearly testing the boundaries with her.

'House?' Cuddy was saying at that moment. 'One more call like this and I'll come up there, take your phone and put it somewhere you'll need a very long 'scope to retrieve.' Her boundaries had been pushed far enough for one day, apparently. Following another brief pause, she rolled her eyes. 'I'll take the stairs.' And a moment later, 'Yes, that is nice for me. They'll be up and running again any time now. Where do you need to go so badly, anyway? ...Right, that'll happen. Goodbye House.'

She hung up with a sigh and looked over at him. He spread his hands. 'At least he's trying.'

She snorted. 'He's _trying_ to drive me crazy,' she said, confirming his earlier suspicions. She had seated herself behind her desk as she talked to House and now started shuffling files and papers distractedly.

He got up from the sofa. 'Is that in a good way,' he ventured as he moved to sit opposite her, 'Or -'

'It's about fifty-fifty.' It came out wryly, but she was smiling again.

'I think that might be a record. He _is_ trying, you know. In his own way. I think he's actually... happy about this. If you can believe it.'

He had said it casually enough, he thought, but she was staring at him as a growing realisation took over her features. 'You think I'm going to crush his heart into a million tiny pieces,' she accused.

He winced. 'It's... been known to happen.'

'I suppose I should be flattered you think I have that much influence here.'

'You don't know - you didn't see him with Stacy -'

'I saw him,' she muttered.

'He wanted her to leave Mark.' He didn't know how much she knew of the details surrounding Stacy's departure, couldn't remember what she'd been told and what she must have simply deduced. Her expression didn't give anything away. 'I think he would have married her, if that's what she wanted. He would have done anything. He doesn't do this sort of thing lightly - when he's in, he's in. It's... why he doesn't do this, _ever_.'

'You can't compare me to Stacy,' she said. 'This is hardly the same situation.'

'Because you're not married?'

'No, because my history with House - there isn't the same amount of baggage. When she came back, it was so easy for them to hurt each other all over again. They practically got off on it. I've thought about this and I'm not -' she frowned, searching for the right words. 'No matter what happens, we'll both still be here, he'll still be working for me. I'll still have a hospital to run and I'll still want him here - need him here. He could never hurt me enough to make me run out on that. I know what's important here.'

He had failed, he realised, to take into account the extent to which she would always put the hospital first. But he heard what she was saying, too, reaffirming that responsibility they both felt, the strange burden that was having House in their lives.

What he suspected she wasn't saying, was that when it came down to it, she wasn't so invested she couldn't pull out relatively intact if she had to.

'There's that optimism, again,' he quipped, wondering if that was, in fact, all it was. Maybe she was fooling herself, and if this thing didn't work it would screw her up as much as he thought it would House.

More importantly, he wondered how much House knew, or suspected. It was possible he was completely in the dark on this - House had an emotional blind spot a mile wide. It might be one of the few things House would never see coming.

xxxxx

It was early evening and he was thinking about heading home for the day, but decided to check in with House first, see if he was still around, for one thing, and if he needed some company. He stopped on approaching House's office, however. Cuddy had beaten him to it.

He just stood and observed them together for a moment, eventually having to fight the urge to join them. They were fine - they didn't need a chaperone.

For all that Cuddy was obviously on a tear about something, making emphatic statements and talking with her hands, and House, his very stance mocking, was giving back as good as he got - they were very clearly enjoying themselves.

Not that his presence would be unwelcome - House would try to get him on side, Cuddy would roll her eyes at them - but it was unnecessary.

_They're fine_, he told himself, and turned around.

Heading back to his office, he could hear a vaguely House-like voice in his head suggesting that he was the one with the problem. Which wasn't out of the realm of possibility, he had House on the brain, for one thing. He had also been fretting over a relationship all day that wasn't even his.

That was healthy.

Maybe he was the one who needed to consider therapy, instead of always bringing it up as an option for House.

Or maybe he just really needed to get a life.


	30. Scenes From a Saturday

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

xxxxx

CHAPTER THIRTY - Scenes From a Saturday

xxxxx

'Why can't you shop online like a normal workaholic?'

'I think you're getting 'workaholic' and 'social recluse' mixed up,' she said, not bothering to object to the term as it applied to herself. She couldn't help grinning at him as he surveyed the store with grim resignation. 'You wanted to come,' she pointed out.

He rolled his eyes and grabbed for her hand, pulling her along after him. 'Let's get this over with.'

xxxxx

'You think it's too dark?' She ran her hand over the smooth finish. The crib was nice and simple, well made, just what she wanted, and she tried to picture it in the spare room - which she was going to have to start thinking of as the baby's room at some point.

She reached for the wood sample chips. One was far too light, the other a little red for her taste. She looked over at House, who was pushing at the matching rocking chair with his cane.

'You have absolutely no opinion? The other day you were full of helpful suggestions.'

'You like it, I don't care - it's perfect,' he said, not looking up. 'But that's not the point. You're not going to buy it, you're going to write it down, take notes, go home and obsess over it until your precious bundle of joy ends up sleeping in a drawer.'

Yes, all right, she'd already circled this model in the catalogue she'd picked up on the way in, and made a few notes. 'I have a system,' she told him, somewhat defensively.

'How do you run a hospital?'

She shrugged. 'The same way.'

It was all about the system - make a system, stick to the system, the system would not let you down.

He gave a rather forceful push to the back of the rocking chair, sending it flying madly back and forth. 'It's too dark,' he announced, and moved on towards the next display setting.

xxxxx

'This is cute.'

''Boring' is the word I would have gone for.'

It had black and white checks and sturdy wheels for jogging - it wasn't boring, it was cute, but all she said was, 'If this is all such a trial, why did you even bother to come?'

'Because I want to get in your pants. Or,' he stopped to correct himself, 'I should say _back_ in your pants. Because I've already been in your pants, numerous times.'

She held up her hands. 'Any chance you're going to stop talking about my pants anytime soon?'

'Would you like to know exactly how many times I've been in your pants? I keep count.'

'I'll take that as a 'no'.'

'Am I going to be seeing some in-pants action any time soon?'

'See all these people around us?' She leaned in towards him, lowering her voice in the vain hope that he might do the same. 'The other customers, those sales assistants over there - as far as they know, we could be just another normal couple. Maybe we could just pretend to be one for a while.'

'They don't care about our relationship status, they're looking at us thinking 'oh goody, more customers we can talk into handing over nine hundred dollars in exchange for what is essentially a cushion on wheels'.'

'It's nine hundred dollars?' She reached for the tag dangling from the stroller's handlebar.

'It's two dollars worth of cloth and padding supported by three dollars worth of metal and plastic. But I bet Britney has one just like it.'

'Well I don't blame her,' she said. 'It's cute.'

He turned her hand over, reading the back of the tag. ''Made using space age technology and materials',' he read out mockingly.

'Just what I'm looking for in a stroller - its aerodynamic qualities.'

'It's got a cup holder,' was House's response. 'Convenient.' He looked thoughtful for a moment, then took out his Vicodin bottle and set it reverently in place. He looked at her seriously. 'We should so totally get it.'

xxxxx

By the third place, House was giving her a disturbingly realistic taste of what it would be like dragging a bored, cranky five-year-old around a busy store past naptime.

'Lunch was hours ago,' he complained. 'And that's ugly.'

She ignored him. 'See, you put this on the crib, and it produces inter-uterine sounds, which is soothing and familiar, to help the baby sleep.'

'My leg hurts,' he said.

'Take your Vicodin.'

'Any other addictive behaviours you'd like to enable?'

'I just want you to stop whining.' She put down one soft, cuddly animal disguising a sophisticated sensory system and picked up another.

The plaintive tone deliberately ratcheted up a notch. 'But I'm _hungry_. And in case you haven't noticed, this is the same stuff we saw in the last two stores, which means that your inability to make any sort of decision on your own - besides sapping my will to live - is all the more blatantly idiotic.'

He was looming over her as he finished, using his height to best advantage. Unimpressed, she held up two virtually identical options, just to see him twitch.

'Slumber Bear or Sleep Sheep?' she said.

xxxxx

'If you think about it, not much point spending all this time picking stuff out for yourself,' he said as they waited in line at the cash register. 'When really, you should be shopping with whatever total stranger you hire to raise your child while you're working twelve hours a day in mind. She'll be the one pushing the stroller, doing whatever the hell it is one does with a diaper genie. Ooh, can we get Nordic nanny? Or some eastern-block refugee, nice and desperate, do just about anything to stay in the country _if you know what I mean_?' He winked exaggeratedly at her.

'I don't know how soon I'll be returning to work after my leave,' she said, ignoring the bulk of his words, and zeroing in on what she assumed was his point.

'You're not stay-at-home mom material. You probably wish you were at work right now.'

Work on a Saturday - actually, she loved working on a Saturday. Nobody bothered her, regular hospital activity was cut by half, she could work in peace and get things done.

Unless he had a case, House never set foot in the hospital on Saturdays...

She was, she realised suddenly, smiling to herself as she stared off into space.

And House was looking at her like she'd just confirmed every suspicion he'd ever had about her. 'No, of course not, no need for a nanny here,' he mocked, eyebrows raised. He reached over to snatch a lollipop from a stand on the edge of the counter. 'There is something seriously wrong with you,' he added, tore off the wrapper and stuck the candy in his mouth. Then took it immediately out, making a face at the taste.

'It's ginger-flavoured,' she told him, pointing to the display, 'For morning sickness.'

'I think the vomit would be a better option. Here,' he thrust it at her, as the customer ahead of them moved away. 'I'm going to go wait in the car.'

Juggling her purchases and, now, a sticky, unwrapped lollipop, she stared after him. 'You don't have the keys.'

'Never stopped me before,' he blithely returned, heading out the doors.

Conscious of the looks she was getting, she forced a smile as she turned to the clerk waiting to serve her and began depositing items on the counter. 'I'll take these, and,' she sighed and held it up, 'One lollipop.'

xxxxx

He had, in fact, lifted the keys from her purse at some point - she realised this upon finding her car idling by the mall exit, House in the driver's seat. The trunk popped open as she approached and she stowed her shopping bags before moving back around the passenger side. He deposited a box of donuts on her lap as soon as she got in.

'Hungry?' he mumbled, his mouth full as he pulled away from the curb. He was driving one-handed, the other busy holding a half-eaten donut.

She just raised an eyebrow at him as she arranged her seatbelt.

Actually, she was hungry, and tired, verging on cranky. It was difficult enough avoiding junk food without having it literally dropped in her lap.

Plus, he was getting powdered sugar everywhere.

She didn't have a donut. He was polishing off his third by the time they turned into her street. His bike was still parked safely to one side of her driveway and she wondered idly whether he would make an escape now, or if he was planning to stay awhile. Whichever it was, she decided to make him help carry everything inside, regardless.

xxxxx

He stood behind her with the look of a disgruntled Sherpa as she got the door open with her newly reclaimed keys, which went a long way to improving her mood. Once inside, she directed him down the hall while she took the donuts to the kitchen and only briefly considered trashing them before leaving them on the counter.

'Still needs a little work,' he said sardonically when she joined him.

The room was bare now, still smelling of fresh paint since the painters had been a week ago - bare except for the growing pile of boxes and shopping bags that would stay right where they were until she had somewhere to put it all.

Babies, she had always known in theory, and was now discovering in practice, needed so much _stuff_. And she didn't have any of the big things yet.

'Still needs a _lot_ of work.' She sighed, leaning against the doorframe listlessly.

There was so much to do and she was so tired... If he weren't here she'd be heading straight for the sofa and a nap. Now she supposed she would be expected to entertain him.

'You wanna watch TV?' she said.

His eyes travelled over her, the full weight of his attention behind it. Whatever he saw, all he said was, 'For future reference, the answer to that question is always 'yes'.'

She smiled, and in the living room she let him commandeer the remote, and one end of the sofa. She took the other, kicking off her shoes and curling up with a plate of grapes, paying little attention to his manic channel surfing habits - until he settled on a Brady Bunch rerun. Then she had to wonder if he was making some kind of comment on the family state. He didn't answer when asked.

'Florence Henderson is hot,' of course, did not count as an answer.

He was ignoring her, and she was comfortable, sinking lower and lower into the cushions until she was laying on her side, feet touching his leg. House never did anything absently, but the way his hand came to rest on her ankle was close, his eyes never leaving the screen.

She closed her eyes.

xxxxx

When she woke up, the television was off, and she was stretched out on the couch, alone. She'd been asleep too long and she was disoriented as she slowly sat up and looked around. Early evening light was rapidly fading from the room.

She was starving - this was her first sensible thought, the second being _where is House_. The house was silent but she knew he was still here. Standing up, she went looking for the man who would never pass up the chance for unsupervised snooping time.

He was in her bed. Well, sitting on her bed, ankles crossed as he reclined on her pillows. He was reading one of her child-rearing books and looked up innocently when she came to stand in the doorway. She didn't buy it for a second.

'Did you have a nice nap?' He smiled, and she was still half-asleep and was unable to work up anything like annoyance, so she smiled back.

'Yes, I did. Having fun?' she countered.

'Don't worry, I've been keeping myself entertained.'

'I'll bet.' Still smiling, she came in and sat next to him, her hip touching his.

He put the book aside and reached for her in one movement, leaning forward to meet her mouth with his as he gathered her against his chest.

She wondered whether he'd been waiting to do this all day. It certainly wasn't unwelcome - if nothing else, at least they were good at this part - and if she was honest, she'd been looking forward to it, too.

Dinner with House and Marjorie, her accountant, interesting as it had been, couldn't have been less like a date. It certainly hadn't ended like one. And since then he had been paying her the sort of attention at work that was alternately endearing and infuriating - when he wasn't plain ignoring her. In other words, things had been surprisingly normal.

He hadn't pressed, she hadn't called him on it. By unspoken agreement, it seemed, they had been waiting. And now here they were.

She brought her hands up to his face, the prickle of his permanent five o'clock shadow familiar under her palms. He still tasted like donuts, she found as she deepened the kiss, lips parting, dragging her tongue through his mouth. It was strangely enticing and she made a small sound of approval against his lips.

Her stomach rumbled.

'God, I'm starving,' she said, pulling away just far enough to get the words out. 'What time is it?' She turned her head to look at the clock on the nightstand. He huffed in her ear. 'I'm going to make dinner. You hungry?'

She pushed herself off him and got to her feet. His voice came after her as she left the room, 'Your priorities suck!'

xxxxx

In the kitchen, she stood staring into the refrigerator, trying to come up with something quick and easy to prepare.

The television had come on in the living room by the time she started transferring ingredients to the counter, found a knife, chopping board, a bowl for the salad. She padded down the corridor, feet still bare from her sojourn on the sofa, and stuck her head around the doorway.

'I'm making omelettes, what do you want in yours? I'm having mushrooms and spinach -'

'Sounds tasty.' There was an implied 'not' on the end.

'There's peppers,' she offered, 'Onions, tomatoes -'

'Cheese?'

She waited, nothing more was forthcoming. 'Just cheese?'

'Any cured meat products you have, feel free to cram in as much as is humanly possible.'

Reserving judgement, she went back to the kitchen.

xxxxx

'You put spinach in mine,' he said, poking at it. 'And chopped it too finely to eat around.'

Sitting beside him, back on the sofa, she shrugged, unrepentant. 'It's food you didn't have to cook or pay for yourself. Something tells me you'll manage to choke it down.'

'Trying to force healthy eating habits on me - I have a Wilson for that.'

'You can't really eat like a teenager.' She looked him over. 'You pretend to, but you can't possibly - you'd have keeled over from malnutrition years ago.'

'You're just jealous of my girlish figure.'

xxxxx

She didn't expect him to help washing up after dinner, and he didn't, though he did come wandering in after a while, poking through her refrigerator and cabinets, hovering as she stood at the sink.

'Did you have any fun at all today?' It didn't come out as an accusation, she was more curious than anything. _Why are you here?_ That was the real question - that, and _why are you here with me_?'

Happy as he seemed to occupy her space and eat her food, he certainly wasn't in it for the domestic bliss.

'Did you?' he said.

'I asked first.'

'It's amazing the lengths some people will go - oh, who am I kidding, no it's not. If I put out, there's a better chance you will. Any guy who ever stood outside the change rooms in Victoria's Secret, or forked over for a lobster dinner can tell you that.'

It wasn't much of an answer, and she didn't believe a word of it, anyway. Of course, she wasn't going to get the answer she was after - if she even knew what that was - and especially not when she couldn't even give voice to the question.

He was here, he was trying. That was worth something, she reminded herself. That was worth a _lot_. Up past her wrists in hot, soapy water, with House lounging by the refrigerator, staring at her back, she wanted to believe that could be enough.

She let it go without comment, turning her attention back to the sink. The pan she had used for the omelettes had been soaking for a few minutes and she set about cleaning it in earnest.

She had a dishwasher, but rarely used it - one person didn't generate that many cups and plates so she washed up by hand most of the time. Just having House there left twice as much mess as usual.

And if that wasn't the story of her life...

'This could make things difficult at work,' she said. 'Have you thought about that?'

'It's not my potential problem, it's yours.' She resisted the urge to turn and look at him as he continued to speak. 'I wouldn't be here if you hadn't already figured it all out in advance, made contingencies upon contingencies. They can't fire you because I'm pretty sure you've got it set up so the hospital will turn to dust in that event. I could always sue your ass for sexual harassment, but apart from that ever-present risk, what's going to change? I do something to piss you off, you get cranky, I walk all over you - we have ourselves a happy little status quo here - let's not ruin it.'

Now she did turn. 'The very fact that you see our relationship that way -'

'We've created life together. How much more compromised can you be?'

'With you, somehow there's always exciting new ground to cover,' she drawled, sending him a look before turning back to drain the sink and peel off her rubber gloves. She was done.

'Great,' he said dismissively. 'Glad we had this talk. Now, where's dessert?'

She shook her head at the segue, but pointed to the fruit bowl.

'No, seriously,' he said.

She shrugged. 'There are some stale donuts. I'd go with the fruit.'

'Fruit is not nature's candy!' he declared loudly, his words directed more at her midsection than at her, she realised. 'Don't believe a word she says -'

'Hey,' she protested laughingly, hands moving to her middle instinctively.

He rolled his eyes a little, stepping forward. 'What, are you trying to cover his ears? He doesn't understand the English language,' he told her condescendingly as long fingers smoothed the material covering her navel. 'I could say 'there's no such thing as Santa Clause!' Or, 'you're a loser and so's your mom!' - all he gets is a blur of noise.'

She decided to contribute her own words of wisdom. 'Your father can't help being a jerk, don't pay any attention to him. Now, or ever.'

There was an answering shift inside her. She smiled at his expression, seeing that he felt it, too.

They just stood there, quietly. It was, she thought, a beautiful moment. Until the sheen of wonder faded and House started prodding at her like a med student on his first OBGYN rotation, which grew old fast.

She took his hand, stopping him and regaining his attention.

'Why don't we skip dessert?' she suggested. 'You can examine me as close as you want.' It wasn't subtle - it wasn't meant to be.

He was looking at her now with growing amusement. 'I'm sorry, was that a come on?' Her mouth dropped open a little at his response. He waved a finger at her. 'You're seducing me. No point denying it - I know how this goes, remember?'

'I'm not denying it,' she was indignant, not embarrassed. 'I just didn't think you'd need convincing, Mr 'I want to get in your pants'.'

She folded her arms over her chest as he stepped up fully against her. He was close enough now her belly pushed into him as his hands came to rest on her hips.

'I want to get in your pants, you want to get in my pants, it works out for everybody.'

'Glad you think so,' she said dryly, but she was tense all of a sudden. Nervous, just a little, as she dropped her arms to her sides, and she knew he could tell, which only made things worse.

His fingers found the edge of her top, a fitted tank gathered down the front to accommodate an expanding waistline. Which he was suddenly dragging upwards, pausing until she lifted her arms so he could pull it off over her head.

She turned her head, looking past him. He saw everything, always, which was fine when she knew exactly how good her body was - _damn_ good, especially for someone approaching forty at an alarming rate. But now she was starting to get big, and he could see that too, whether he commented on it or not.

He wasn't saying anything right now. For a moment, feeling huge and unattractive, she almost wished they were in her office, and he was making fat jokes - it would be like a normal day and she could pretend nothing had changed, that it didn't matter what he thought.

On the other hand, she thought as her eyes flickered up to his, he wasn't looking at her as though repulsed by the very sight of her.

'It's different,' she offered, but her confidence was growing as his fingers ghosted up her sides. She gripped the edge of the counter behind her, his hands splayed large and warm over her ribcage, his thumbs brushing the sides of her breasts still encased in her bra.

'If you think I'm even going to be looking below about waist-height, I'm afraid you're going to be really disappointed before this is over.'

She reached up to put her arms around his neck. True to his word, his eyes never strayed. Apparently going up a cup size was enough to distract from her bulging middle, the extra inches on her thighs and hips - she could live with that.

xxxxx

'You don't want this,' she said, keeping her voice low.

It was the middle of the night, the small stove light providing the only illumination. She was back in the kitchen. She was alone, but she wasn't exactly talking to herself as she looked down at the box sitting on the counter.

'Sugar is bad for you. It will rot your teeth and make you hyper. And don't get me started on saturated fats.' She sighed. Of all the things to crave... '_This_ is what you want? What possible nutritional benefits to you think you'll be gaining, here?'

'Do it, Mommy! Eat the bad food!' came a high little voice from the doorway.

'Oh, shut up,' she said without turning, before taking the entire box with her to sit at the table.

He came in, dressed once more in jeans and t-shirt. She had wrapped herself in her robe, nights were getting colder now. He leaned a hip against the table, leaning forward, a hand reaching down to rub his thigh.

'How is it tonight?' she ventured softly.

'Feels like an elephant sat on it.' His mouth was caught between a smirk and a grimace.

'Forgive me if I don't overflow with sympathy.' She made the decision to ignore him and to give in to her craving simultaneously, grabbed a donut and took a bite. It was on the verge of going stale, but still good. Really, really good. 'Oh my god, why did I bother with the sex?' she said, earning herself a filthy look.

'I'm asking myself that same question.'

She finished her donut. He swallowed a Vicodin - he had probably already taken one in the bedroom when he woke up, she guessed.

'Let's go back to bed, she said, sucking lingering traces of sweetness from her thumb and forefinger as she rose.

xxxxx

His movements were slow in the dark of her bedroom as he dropped his jeans and lowered himself to the side of the bed. She got in on the other side and waited. The sheets had cooled and she sought out his warmth when he finally lay down, his arms coming up around her automatically. It was nice, she thought.

Which was what made it so strange

'What are we doing?'

'We're cuddling. I know, I'm filled with shame, too. Turn over, we can spoon, that's a bit more respectable.'

She didn't move. 'It's nice. Since when are you nice, House?'

'Try not to strain something as you wrap your pretty little head around this - I like you now. Occasionally I'm going to be nice.'

She snorted softly against his chest. 'You don't like me. You don't like anyone. You think I'm bossy, and obsessive -'

'And anal, and ambitious. You care too much what people think and you dress like a street walker even though you're forty and pregnant and you could have maybe a shred of decency once in a while.'

'I'm thirty-nine!' she protested.

'You're short, too.'

'I'm short? Low blow - you want to have a go at my mother while you're at it?'

'I like you enough.'

She fell silent as she took in his words, his voice a low rumble in the dark, a faint vibration against her forehead where it was pressed close to his larynx.

'This is where you say all the reasons why you don't like me, either,' he prompted eventually.

'I always liked you, House.' The only thing that surprised her about this confession was the thought that perhaps he hadn't always known. 'You just never cared, before,' she added after a moment, 'Whether I did or not.'

'Yeah.'

She smiled at the quiet acknowledgement, and they lay in silence for a time. She fell asleep with his arms wrapped around her and his breath in her hair.


	31. The Morning After Revolutions

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

xxxxx

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE - The Morning After Revolutions

xxxxx

She was not at her most subtle first thing in the morning. This was the first thing that occurred to him upon waking to find her nuzzling the side of his face while her hand did other things under the covers.

'Good, you're awake,' she said as soon as his eyes were open.

'Good,' he agreed, 'Otherwise I never would have caught you molesting me in my sleep.'

She raised herself up a little and planted her mouth over his, ignoring him in favour of kissing him.

'I need to pee,' he complained when she let him up for air.

She rolled her eyes and her hands pushed against his chest as she levered herself up to swing a leg over him. 'You can pee any time.'

'Sure,' he said, 'Next board meeting, I'll come in and christen the new upholstery.' He winced as she leaned forward, her full weight, it felt like, suddenly pressing on his bladder. 'Molest you in _your_ sleep next time, see how you like it.'

She was just smiling, though, as she began kissing her way down his chest.

And all right, he thought, warming to the idea, maybe this wasn't _so_ bad.

xxxxx

'Morning people,' he muttered, as Cuddy made her way humming - actually _humming_ - into the bathroom. He couldn't muster much vitriol behind it, however, strangely enough. In fact, there might have been something approaching a silly grin on his face as he settled himself back against Cuddy's numerous pillows.

He still had to pee, but he could live with it for the time being.

He was really starting to like weekends. Not that he hadn't always liked weekends, but now weekends were when he and Cuddy pretended to be A Couple. It was a process that bore remarkable resemblance to actually being A Couple, only with far more indifference and a tendency to act like they intensely disliked each other on weekdays.

Just because she'd renewed his all-access pass to the garden of Cuddly delights didn't mean she wasn't still a total drag on occasion. Or most of the time, really.

But then there were the weekends, and a Cuddy who had discovered the wonders of second trimester sex. Life was good.

Reaching over, he retrieved the portable handset from the nightstand, dialled in a familiar number, and listened as it went through to Wilson's voicemail.

'Hey,' he said. 'You know that thing where pregnant women can't get enough sex? Have I mentioned that it's _awesome_? Anyway, I'm at Cuddy's. Call me back as soon as you get this,' he hit the button to end the call before adding, 'And I'll give you all the gory details.'

He put down the phone and smiled at Cuddy, who gave him an airy look as if she didn't believe for a second a fine, upstanding young man like James Wilson would ever indulge in lurid sex talk.

He couldn't wait until Wilson, doing his dutiful friend thing, called back in record time. He'd have to make sure it was Cuddy who answered the phone.

Yes, he thought, lying back with his hands behind his head, weekends were fun.

xxxxx

'Just how many consecutive hours are you planning on sitting there? Are you trying to set some kind of couch-potato record?'

He used his very best whiny-teenager voice. 'But Mom, it's Saturday!'

'There's a big, beautiful world out there, you know,' she drawled, getting into character.

'It's cold outside. I don't frolic as well as I used to.'

His answer was an unsympathetic snort as she bent to clear up his collection of coffee cups, and the remains of his breakfast and late-morning snack from the coffee table. She was red in the face by the time she straightened up, arms laden, and he couldn't help smiling as she left the room. There was a not-very-small part of him that found great satisfaction in seeing her increasingly incapacitated by her condition.

In other words, she was getting fat and it was fun to watch.

Cuddy was in the midst of her Saturday morning cleaning frenzy, though, a lifelong process, he suspected, only compounded by her recently acquired nesting instinct. A little thing like carrying a bowling ball strapped to her middle wasn't going to stop her.

Which had nothing to do with his need to interrupt the process every five minutes - or at least every commercial break, anyway.

'Hey Mom?' he called out, hitting the mute button on attractive women trying to sell him shampoo.

'What?' Footsteps approaching, then she stuck her head around the door, one kitchen-glove covered-hand wrapping around the frame.

'Kind of creepy that you answer to that.'

'Or maybe you're just so very juvenile I often find myself confused about the nature of our relationship.' She rolled her eyes and disappeared. He realised he hadn't actually gotten to the point.

'Hey Mom?'

There was pointedly no answer this time.

'Hey woman I'm currently sleeping with?' Footsteps again and she reappeared. 'Jimmy's coming over to play today. That's okay, right?'

'Here? You have your own apartment, last I checked.'

'But you're here. Where else would I want to be?' he said in his most completely sincere tone.

She immediately looked suspicious. 'What are you and Jimmy going to be getting up to?'

'I was thinking we'd build a fort out of sofa cushions. Pretend to be pirates.'

'Which translates in grown-up speak as -?'

'Watch sports, drink beer? Might still do the pirate thing, though, if you're into it. What do you say, wanna walk my plank?'

'Maybe later. I have to -'

'Shiver me timbres? Swab my deck?'

'Do any of those things mean anything different?'

He shrugged. 'Just fun to say. Whatever double meaning your over-sexed mind is coming up with - '

'Well I'm going to be out for a few hours, so I'm not actually going to be here,' she spoke over the top of him.

To which his mental response was 'even better', some hint of which must have shown on his face because she said, 'I think you should do your entertaining in your own home.'

'This is my home away from home?' he offered. 'I can't be bothered relocating? Stop trying to impede my attempts to integrate our lives together, you big commitmentphobe? Pick one.'

She put up her hands in defeat. 'Fine, whatever. I have to run some errands, check in at work, go to the gym,' she listed off, 'Then I'll probably stop at the market on the way home. Any requests?'

'I want a pony and a shiny red fire truck.'

'Or...?'

'That you stop imposing your need to constantly stuff every second of your day with mindless busy work on the people around you?'

'I was thinking more like chips and dip for your playdate with Wilson, but I'll see what I can do.'

And here came the instructions.

'Any mess you make, you clean up. Use _coasters_ and wipe up any spills. If anyone calls, don't answer it, just let the machine pick up. I mean it.'

'No mess, no phone privileges? That's all? So it's okay if we dress up in your underwear and high heels and pretend to be pre-op trannies?'

She smirked. 'As long as you take pictures.'

xxxxx

'New rule,' House said without taking his eyes off the television, 'Every time the players make physical contact in a way that makes you feel funny in your pants, take a drink.'

As he and Wilson watched, two women on the screen stood very close, heads together, conversing breathily before taking up positions on the court. Beer bottles raised in unison.

'Basically, before every serve -'

'Take a drink.'

'Good rule.

The wonders of women's beach volleyball, a sport just begging for a drinking game - which he was more than happy to put into effect.

'So,' Wilson said, attempting and failing to draw House's attention away from the riveting entertainment, 'When is she coming back, again?'

'Could be any minute now,' he replied, observing out of the corner of his eye Wilson's increasingly nervous fidgeting.

'Why don't I -' he cut off abruptly as House slapped his cane down across his lap. Wilson sat back and stared at him. 'Or not? What -'

'Leave it.'

'But -'

'Leave. It.'

'...Why?'

'You're my guest, you should be relaxing. Have another drink, I'm pretty sure the two in the red just made out.'

'Technically, we're both Cuddy's guests, she's going to be home any minute, and you won't let me tidy up - again, I have to say, why?'

House looked around them, at the half-eaten pizza, empty bottes, various salty snack foods spilling all over the place - all of which he'd insisted Wilson bring over, and really, it was quite an impressive mess for just a few short hour's effort.

In fact, it was probably the most mess the room had ever seen, ever.

'This,' he told Wilson, still holding him in place with the strategically placed cane, 'Is why you've never been able to hold onto your wives. Too busy trying to keep them happy. That's your problem. You can't _make_ people happy, they either are or they aren't.'

'Whereas if you do your best to make them unhappy -'

'Anyone will smile if you're nice to them. It's how they act when they want to kill you, that's the real tell.'

Wilson sighed, sitting back against the sofa cushions. 'Thank you so much for inviting me to partake in your little mind games. Always a pleasure. Wait -' He grabbed for the remote lying in between them and hit mute. 'Is that her car?'

'Hey, it's even better with the sound off.' He leaned forward to grab a handful of Cheetos.

Beside him, Wilson quietly panicked. Eventually, the front door opened, then closed.

They both looked up to see her standing in the entryway with a bag of groceries under one arm and a gym bag slung over her shoulder. Eyebrows raised, she surveyed the room.

'I think I would have preferred pillow forts.'

Wilson spread his hands apologetically. 'I'm sorry. He's... testing your boundaries. Or something.'

She shrugged, letting the gym bag fall on a chair. 'I think he knows exactly where my boundaries are, and this is just a reminder he's a big boy and I'm not the boss of him, here.'

'If anywhere,' House contributed, drawing their attention back to him. 'Both of you are so far off I'm embarrassed to know you.' They looked unconvinced and he cried out, 'I'm a slob! I'm unkempt, I'm untidy, I leave pots to soak for days and have things dropping spores in my refrigerator.' To illustrate his point he pointed his cane at a crumpled napkin on the edge of the coffee table and sent it over the edge onto the floor.

Cuddy and Wilson shared a look. Then sighed in unison. It was freakish the way they did that.

Then Wilson, suddenly realising he was free of his makeshift lap bar, jumped to his feet. 'Let me help with that,' he said, relieving her of her groceries. 'I'll put these away, you should sit down.'

She didn't even pretend to argue. 'Thanks, know where the kitchen is?'

'Same place as the beer,' House reminded him. 'Of which I'll have another. Two.' Wilson left and he watched Cuddy stepping out of her shoes. 'Are you really going to stand for that? He's treating you like an invalid.'

'He's being nice,' she said as she came to sit beside him. 'I appreciate a change every once in a while.' As soon as she was seated she was shifting and giving a little hiss as she pressed a hand against her side.

He pushed it out of the way with his own, feeling as a second kick aimed with deadly precision at her liver. 'How's Junior?'

'Turning somersaults since I was at the gym.' She smiled ruefully.

'I thought I caught a whiff of enterprise about you.' Leaning in towards her he pressed his nose against her hair and breathed in. 'Or maybe it's sweat - such a turn on.'

'My yoga class is hardly strenuous, I didn't even break a sweat. Unlike when I had to take the stairs up to the ICU when I got to work...'

'Elevators?'

'I'm bringing the lawyers in on this on Monday. Maybe the threat of legal action will help them figure out why the hell they keep stalling.'

He leaned in again. 'Ah yes, administrative fervour, that's what that tantalising scent is. With just a hint of petty vengeance. Now that is a turn on,' he rumbled, and she giggled, her arms coming up around his neck and lifting her face to his. They were mid-make-out when a voice interrupted them.

'Okay, I'll just... pretend this isn't completely weird.' Giving his head a shake, Wilson hovered warily for a moment longer before sitting back down.

Cuddy, meanwhile, swatted his chest. 'You did that on purpose.'

He leaned past her. 'Better or worse than that time you walked in on your parents having sex?'

Wilson made a face. 'Never, ever tell him things when you think he's too drunk to remember.'

'It wasn't when he was a kid, either. It was last year.'

Cuddy laughed, patting Wilson's shoulder. 'I never would have fallen for that in the first place.'

'Well some people get talkative,' House said, turning to her pointedly, 'Others just sleep with inappropriate people.'

'And some spend so much of their time in an altered mental state, alcohol just doesn't make much difference,' Wilson offered.

'Speaking of which, where's my beer?'

'Oh, that's right I was going to ask - before you two went all PDA on me - can I get you anything?'

This was, of course, not directed at him.

'Now you're just showing off,' he muttered, and contemplated turning the sound back on the TV. But no, it really was better like this.

'I'd love some juice, thank you. You don't have to, you know, I'm not -'

'It's no problem, I'm already running House's errands so,' he shrugged as he rose off the couch.

'Oh, there's some leftover couscous salad in the fridge, too,' she added, almost sheepishly, 'If you wouldn't mind.'

'Coming right up.'

Show off _and_ a suck up.

'Someone is going to have to clean up this mess, you know,' Cuddy said, looking at him as he glowered at the one thing in the room that didn't deserve it. TV had so rarely let him down.

'And I vote for the idiot who created it,' she added when he didn't respond.

'I vote Mr Maid. He likes to feel needed.'

She shook her head. 'I am never leaving you alone here again.'

'Now you've figured out my true motive.'

Huffing in disbelief she nonetheless edged closer. 'You are such a liar,' she said, leaning into his side.

'You have a bed, you know,' he said, looking down at her head on his shoulder.

'Last I heard you had a couch and TV of your own, but I don't see you using them. What is this, anyway?'

He drew away to gape at her. 'Only the greatest sporting innovation of all time.'

He proceeded to introduce her to the magic of modern athletic attire and, once Wilson returned, to debate whether chugging was called for whenever someone's face hit sand. It was decided chugging should be reserved for the covetous moment when an errant lycra panty had to be dislodged from someone's crack.

Cuddy, meanwhile, made short work of her salad, following it up with two slices of pizza. She was a drowsy weight against him after a while, commenting less and less. He didn't mind pulling pillow duty, even if it meant he was immobilised and therefore couldn't reach any of the array of offerings laid out on the coffee table. That was what Wilson was for, anyway.

Besides which, he was enjoying it, her presence at his side, in between him and Wilson, it was easy and uncomplicated. And it was what he wanted. He always enjoyed getting what he wanted.

xxxxx

Cuddy, on the other hand, was a pain when she got what _she_ wanted.

'You cleaned.'

He did, technically, but she was sounding far too pleased about it. 'I carted trash. That's my job as man of the house, temporary or otherwise.'

'You cleaned.'

'You say that as if I live in abject squalor.'

'I'm a slob, I'm not doing it and you can't make me,' she mimicked in a deep voice, which he decided to ignore since it was nothing remotely like his own distinctive tenor.

He watched, instead, as she propped up her foot on the edge of the dressing table and started applying lotion.

'You're surprisingly bendy for someone of your... carriage.'

She looked up from what she was doing and favoured him with a near blinding smile, which might have seemed out of place, given his comment, but considering what he thought was coming next, was actually a predictable result.

'I am, aren't I?' she agreed, switching one leg for the other, and proceeding to slather that limb, too, in a manner that could only be considered obscene. Especially considering she was only wearing panties and a tank top. The latter of which covering not much of anything, seeing as how she was spilling out of it everywhere.

She was coming towards him, now, more of the lotion being smoothed up her arms. The sway to her hips might have looked ridiculous on any other moderately-and fast-working-towards-heavily pregnant woman. Somehow, she made it work.

Knees on the bed, one leg swinging over his as she settled herself over him, more hovering than thumping her full weight down on his lap, as she had quickly learned not to do - and there was that smile again. He smiled back.

'I've noticed something.'

'Oh?' She was, he realised, only feigning interest, being far more concerned with licking his neck.

'Every time I say something that would leave most people feeling, I don't know, hurt, or upset, or just plain pissed, you seem much more inclined to come and launch yourself at me.'

'Your point?'

'It turns you on when I insult you. No wonder you've liked me so much all these years.'

She brought her face up to his, her nose brushing against his. There was more smiling. 'Maybe I just think you're cute,' she said.

'Cute?' A more objective observer might have said that came out in a whine - he'd never claimed to be objective. He started to protest further but she quickly covered his mouth with hers, firmly and convincingly, in a way that brooked no argument.

Not that he was planning on arguing.

Well, only a little.

Rolling her off him he pinned her easily - once she was on her back she was more over-turned turtle than vixen.

'Course, your hormones are so screwed up you don't know what you're doing,' he said as she craned upwards and nipped at his chin before capturing his lower lip between her teeth. All right, half-turtle, half-vixen. 'If you're not crying,' his next words, spoken against her mouth, 'You're horny, or cleaning obsessively. You shouldn't be operating heavy machinery, let alone making decisions that affect the healthcare of hundreds of people a day.'

'Enough with the sweet talk,' she all but growled. 'You had me at 'horny'.'

He still had her by the arms but her lower half was free and the next thing he knew was a toe yanking down his shorts. Limber, indeed. _Now_ he was impressed.


	32. Face to Face

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

A/N: This is only a rather short part, mostly just setting things up for the next chapter. Which is already written, by the way, so I'll post it over the next few days.

xxxxx

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO - Face to Face

xxxxx

The strange thing, she found, was that nothing really changed much at work. She didn't know why she thought it would. It wasn't as if she'd expected him to suddenly be on time for things, or start listening to anything she said.

The fact was, she'd always accommodated his faults, all the many ways he made her life difficult, because at the end of the day one patient lived who otherwise wouldn't have and she knew it was worth it. He didn't owe her anything more than that.

Didn't mean he wasn't still the worst employee in the history of employees, and that she didn't sometimes want to strangle him just to see his eyes pop out.

No, that hadn't changed, either. She'd never taken his behaviour personally before, and she wasn't going to start now just because he 'liked her enough', whatever _that_ meant.

Little things, though, slipped through - a more intimate smile here and there, the occasional urge to drag him into a storage closet, which she never acted on but which he always seemed to pick up on anyway and make comments accordingly.

More often, though, it was business as usual.

'Good morning, Dr House,' she greeted him with a smile as she joined him in the elevator just as the doors were closing. She reached over and pressed the button for the third floor, while he did that thing where he acted like her very existence pained him.

It was after ten and House had been at the hospital for a while already, however, which meant it was shaping up to be a good day. House being House was fine with her, as long as he did it while working, so she simply ignored him ignoring her and watched the floor numbers change.

The elevator came to a halt just then, and after a few seconds of nothing happening, they both _realised_ nothing was happening.

'You've got to be kidding,' she said, turning to meet House's eyes.

'Don't look at me,' he said, unmoving beside her, 'I've never been in a stopped elevator I haven't stopped myself.'

'They said they were on top of things, I can't believe this.' She looked down at the control panel and pressed the emergency intercom button. 'It's probably nothing. It _better_ be nothing.'

'Yes, I'm sure it's nothing,' House said. 'I've got a really good feeling about this.'

xxxxx

'Well, five or ten minutes, that's not so bad.' She turned to face him, reasoning lamely, 'It's not like they don't have the routine down by now.'

'Well as long as you're convinced,' he said sarcastically, leaning against the wall.

'Damn,' she said, hands at her jacket pockets, 'I don't have my cell phone with me. Can I have yours?'

He shrugged. 'Mine's sitting on the table up in diagnostics, playing the Macarena really loudly whenever someone calls me - which I hope is often because the keypad's locked and no one will be able to turn it off. People hate that song, did you know that?'

'Great,' she muttered to herself, not really paying attention to him as she looked at her watch for the third time since speaking with maintenance.

'You can't last five minutes without giving someone an order? We can always play 'Simon Says' if you're that desperate.'

'I just want to let my assistant know what's happening,' she told him defensively. 'And tell Dyer why I'm not meeting with her right now as we arranged, because I'm stuck in an elevator.'

'Five minutes without contact with the rest of the hospital,' he pondered. 'I'm suddenly dying to know what you do when you need to use the bathroom.'

xxxxx

All of two minutes had passed, during which she had stood resolutely in the middle of the elevator, staring at the doors and _willing_ the thing to start moving. It didn't work, of course, and after another minute she gave up, moving over against the wall to settle beside House with a sigh.

She checked her watch. Sighed again.

He drummed his hands on the wall behind him with a random staccato beat, just long enough to get irritating, then finished with a flourish. 'So,' he said, 'Wanna fool around?'

'Of course I do,' she replied without so much as batting an eye. 'Especially with the security camera recording every detail.'

She looked down at her watch again, noting that fifty-five seconds had passed. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, fingers tapping the outside of her thigh impatiently. She resisted the urge to check the time again. It was in casting her gaze around the small interior for something else to focus on that she became aware of House, surreptitiously edging away from her along the wall.

'What?'

Found out, he pushed off and crossed to the opposite wall in one long cane-propelled stride.

'What?' she said again, more insistently.

'I make jokes but I'm starting think if you have to stand here doing nothing for much longer your head is _actually_ going to explode this time.'

'Fine.' She crossed her arms over her chest, watch tucked out of sight. 'Want to talk about your case?'

He made a face.

'All right, how's your leg today?'

He made a big show of looking down. 'Still there.'

'Spoke to your mother lately? How are your parents?'

He didn't answer, just started digging desperately through his pockets. She smirked and fell silent.

House's search turned up his vicodin and his PSP, the latter of which he returned to the inside of his jacket after taking one mournful look at it.

'Battery's low,' he muttered. 'Tell you what,' he said next, staring upwards as he flipped the cap on the pill bottle, 'I'll give you a boost, we pop the sun roof on this baby and shimmy down the cables to freedom.'

She raised a doubtful gaze to the service hatch in the roof. 'That's ambitious.'

'Well, so's your cleavage.'

'I think you've been watching too many action movies.'

'Stuck in an elevator and we're not going to fool around _or_ attempt a daring escape? You're right, my experiences with the entertainment industry and all its glories have not prepared me for this. Unless you want to go into labour. Guess we'd have to be stuck in here a lot longer than five minutes for that to get interesting.'

'Don't even joke about it.'

She'd been trying not to even _think_ about it, herself. It would be the ultimate irony, going into premature labour literally mere feet away from one of the top maternal care units in the state, and being unable to reach it.

There was no reason for it, of course. And it was such a cliché there was no way it would actually happen. This is what she told herself, but looking at House she saw that she wasn't the only one who found the idea somewhat sobering.

'Twenty-six weeks,' he said, almost like an offering.

'I know. Good chances.'

'Even so. Don't go into labour.'

'I'm doing my best.' She spread her hands and they shared the smallest of smiles, for once of a mind about something.

Of course, it occurred to her that if she had to be trapped in an elevator when a dire medical situation arose, there were few people she'd rather be stuck with than House. Perhaps even if there wasn't one, she reflected.

It was at this moment that the tinny, obnoxious strains of the Macarena filled the confined space.

'Oops,' he said, reaching into a pocket and pulling out his cell phone.

Her smile froze. Her jaw dropped and she gaped at him. 'You said you didn't have your phone!'

'I totally lied. Shocking, isn't it?' He brought the phone to his ear. 'Yeah?'


	33. Heart to Heart

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Rating: suitable for teens  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

A/N: I need to end chapters abruptly more often - the reviews are fun! For the record, there is not now, nor will there ever be, a terrorist attack in this fic. :-)

xxxxx

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE - Heart to Heart

xxxxx

'And someone get me a sandwich,' he was saying, as Cuddy hovered and made impatient faces at him, 'I'll want it when I escape - working up quite an appetite in here fending off Cuddy's advances.'

'Anything else?' Foreman asked dryly over the static-y line. Reception in the elevator, predictably, sucked.

'Tell Chase if I'm not out of here in twenty minutes I fully expect him to repel down the elevator shaft and bust me out. Or at least bring me my lunch.' He ended the call without waiting for whatever Foreman was going to say next, and Cuddy immediately held out her hand.

'Give it to me.'

'But Miss Cuddy, we barely know each other.'

'House!'

'Oh, you mean this?' he held the phone tantalisingly just out of her reach.

Her outstretched arm dropped, both hands moving to her hips. 'I'm not going to play your little games but ask yourself which you'd prefer, just giving me the phone, or listening to me bitch about the phone for the next god only knows how long we're in here.'

He pretended to consider it for a moment. 'You didn't say the magic word.'

She rolled her eyes, huffed out an irritated sigh and said, 'May I please borrow your phone.'

He passed it to her with an appropriately smug smile.

'Thank you,' she said - though it was rather lacking in sincerity, he felt - as she dialled a number.

He tuned her out as best he could, admin-ese a language he had little desire to become more familiar with, and instead weighed his cane in his hands and searched in vain for something to hit. There was not a ball or elevator maintenance worker's shin in sight, however, and by the time Cuddy had made no less than four calls he had developed a greater appreciation for just how boring her job was, as well as finding time to indulge in a brief yet satisfying fantasy about beating the doors down in a hulk-like expression of rage-fuelled strength.

'So,' he said when she finally stopped yapping away to various subordinates - the phone, he noticed, went into her pocket rather than being returned to him, 'Want to play eye-spy?'

She sighed and rubbed at her neck. 'Are you going to 'spy' anything other than my breasts?' she asked wearily.

'Unlikely.'

'Then no.'

'Why would I want to spy anything else? Even if there was a lot to choose from, which in here, there isn't. Not that it isn't a very attractive elevator. I've always admired the tasteful faux-wood panelling. Very pretty. You know what would be better than a very pretty elevator?'

'If it worked?'

'If it worked!'

'I can't fix the elevator House, yelling at me isn't going to help.'

He was suddenly across the small space and stabbing the intercom button. 'Dr Cuddy is prepared to flash the security camera if you'll say 'five more minutes' and actually _mean_ it this time.'

By then Cuddy was elbowing him out of the way and aiming one of her more impressive glares at him while she started apologising.

'Tell him _I'll_ do the flashing if that's how he swings. We don't judge.'

'We're just getting a little antsy in here,' she was saying, loudly in an attempt to drown him out. 'It has been longer than ten minutes -'

He turned away and crossed to the opposite corner, frustrated. He couldn't pace properly in here and standing like this was becoming less doable by the minute.

With Cuddy facing more or less away he went about the slightly awkward process of sitting down, and was propped in the corner, legs stretched out, contemplating another vicodin when she turned.

She looked down at him wordlessly for a moment, her expression unreadable apart from that annoying touch of compassion in her eyes, and slid down the wall to sit herself, not much more gracefully than he had done.

'Feel better?' she said finally, when her position mirrored his, her ankles touching his in the middle of the floor.

'Tons,' he said around the pill in his mouth.

She shrugged. 'Were you even listening? They did say they'd pry the doors open so we can climb out if it's much longer.'

'How long?'

'The latest estimate? Fifteen minutes.'

'I meant the odds on us killing each other in here. I'd say ten to one at this point, growing shorter at a rate inversely proportional to the amount of time spent in captivity.'

'You think they're making bets out there?'

'I would. Somewhere out there, a lot of people are laughing their asses off over this. At least three of them work for me.'

xxxxx

A few more minutes passed. His boredom level rose. There really wasn't anything to do in here and after a while even staring at Cuddy's chest was losing its appeal - something he wouldn't have thought was even possible.

'I guess we could practice our comedy routine,' he said.

She'd been staring into space, lost in her own little world, but she looked over at him, puzzled. 'What?'

'You could be a much better straight man. Actually -'

'Don't say it.'

'Oh fine. But my trannie jokes kill and you know it.'

'Guess it's a good thing you hardly ever talk to patients.'

'See, this is the problem. I'm the funny one. You're clearly not, so stop trying.'

She just laughed at him, unconcerned. 'Whatever.'

'Are you ready? I'll throw you an easy one. Cuddy's cleavage is so impressive...'

She raised an eyebrow, telling him flatly: 'I'm not doing it.'

'Got somewhere else to be? Cuddy's cleavage is _so_ impressive.'

'How impressive is it?' she deadpanned.

'Every time she steps outside, we get fan mail from the space station.'

'Hilarious.'

'Been working on that one for a while. Then there's the follow up about man-made objects visible from space.'

'_Man-made_?'

'Grew them your own self, and everything.' She narrowed her eyes, apparently guessing what was coming next. 'And you are a man, aren't you?' he added.

'Yes, House. I'm a man. And apparently, a medical miracle.' She smoothed her hands pointedly over her bulging middle.

She was getting exasperated by now, and he smiled as she fixed her eyes on his. 'Oh, you want me so bad right now,' he said.

'I'm just a simmering pool of burning lust over here.'

'I can tell. Shame about the surveillance equipment, otherwise you'd be on me like an astronaut on a camera phone while passing over the eastern seaboard.'

He was expecting a laugh because that one _was_ funny, but she just gave a resigned little sigh. 'House -' she began, hesitated, then started up again, 'Look, do you want your phone back? It must have games on it - or you could call Wilson, bug him instead.'

He ignored the diversionary tactics. 'What were you going to say?'

'Nothing,' she shrugged, self-conscious, but clearly not wanting to show it. 'It's just... Do you ever get the feeling we don't really get along, so much as we're just... used to each other?' She gestured vaguely with her hands. 'I mean, doesn't it bother you that we don't ever really talk?'

'Does it _bother_ me?'

She rolled her eyes, he suspected mostly at herself, which he thought more than justified. 'I know we talk, but we don't -'

'Translation: 'we never talk, you're not interested in me for me, you're only using me for my uterus'. Am I getting warm?'

'You wanted to hear it,' she said, holding up her hands.

'Fine,' he shrugged, 'Let's talk. Let's talk about how you think you know me. You do know me, better than almost anyone, but -'

'But you're so special and complicated, no one could ever really know a man like you.'

'I was going to say 'but you are terminally myopic whenever you get personally involved in anything'. I like your thing, though. I am a very unique snowflake.'

'Don't bring objectivity into it, House. We're not supposed to be objective about this - you don't get a medal if you can drop your emotional baggage at the door.'

'Doesn't change the fact that history and your long, distinguished relationship rap sheet shows us you'd benefit from a third party basically making any and all decisions for you because frankly, you just can't be trusted.'

'Are we talking recent history, because I'm starting to agree with you.'

'You're not in control in a relationship, and you hate that. Like being stuck in a tiny little metal box with someone, only pushing the right buttons don't always take you where you want to go.'

'Well you've started unloading the metaphors. This should be good.' She had her arms folded across her chest and he loved this part, like watching a bug squirming on a dissection board, right before pinning it down.

'Your only option is to distance yourself, wait for whichever gomer you're making time with to give you a reason to dump their asses, and then at least you can say you tried.'

'You realise you just referred to yourself as a 'gomer'.'

'I'm honoured to be counted amongst such a lofty number.'

'This is not exactly a great revelation, so I'm terrible at relationships. Get to the point.'

'You're waiting for me to screw up. Until then, you're just humouring me. It's not fair, stop it.'

Her face wasn't giving an inch, but her eyes dropped away and he knew he had her. 'What if I don't know how?' she said after a moment.

'Consult the gods, talk to your life coach - that's not me, by the way. Figure out whatever issues stem from being successful and attractive and, god forbid, female, and then get over them.'

'I can't believe _you_ are telling me to get over my issues.'

'You're just jealous of my issues because they're actually justified as opposed to being, oh what's the word, pathetic? Works for me. Now, aren't you glad we _talked_?'

'Delighted.'

'Can I have my phone back?'

She was still frowning but at that the corners of her mouth turned up. 'No.'

xxxxx

'How much longer?'

'In minutes or game stakes?'

'Minutes.'

She glanced down at her watch. 'Give it another two and I'll make them open the doors.'

'For the record, I'd rather climb up than down. Though neither will be fun.'

He didn't look at her but could tell when she nodded. 'Me too - far less chance of anyone getting a look up my skirt. We probably won't get a choice.'

They sat in silence while he let his internal clock tick away another thirty seconds, thirty-five...

'You're not objective.' Her words were half muttered, then she shrugged and spoke more firmly. 'You're not objective. You say I'm not giving you a fair chance because my judgement is clouded, well, the same applies to you.'

'No it doesn't.'

'Why not?'

'_Because_.'

'Good answer. You know, maybe you make me deliriously happy. Maybe, there's no one else in the world I could imagine being with and you'd never know because that would make you happy, and deep down you don't believe you can ever _be_ happy. We all bring our own issues to the table, House.'

His head tilted to the side, acknowledging the hit, but he wasn't ready to lay down arms just yet.

'Are you in love with me?' he countered.

She stared at him, her expression conveying some nameless emotion he felt as if he should recognise, before settling into something more impassive.

She opened her mouth to speak -

Then the elevator moved.

They stared at each other for what must have been the shortest elevator ride ever, moving all of ten inches, it seemed, before it stopped again and the doors opened.

Getting up was easier than getting down, he just planted his cane and relied on his left leg to do the work. Still she was faster, he looked up to see her brushing off the back of her skirt and a maintenance guy blocking his exit.

'Sorry about the wait. Everyone okay in there?'

'The other elevators still working?' he demanded as he pushed past, wasting no time getting out of there.

'House?' Cuddy inquired, following close on his heels.

'Thirty minutes in the damn thing and we only made it to the third floor. If I don't want it to take that long again to reach the _fourth_ floor, I'm going to require a working elevator. Nice, tight ship you're running here, Cuddy. Good thing no one ever has mobility issues in a hospital.'

She sighed and turned back around. 'Tell me it's just this one.'

He paced a little ways down the corridor as Cuddy waited for the end of a lengthy explanation involving the intricacies of elevator service companies and their response times. It felt good to stretch his legs, anyway, both of them. As soon as he heard the magic words, 'just this bank', he kept going in the direction he was headed.

He half expected to hear the clicking of Cuddy's heels as she chased after him, but there was a crisis and now she was finally free to do whatever it was she did in these situations - panic, threaten to fire people, micromanage the situation to death - all of which would keep her busy for a while.

Of course, he almost wanted to be back on the elevator if it meant she'd answer the question.

xxxxx

In the end, all it took was one phone call. He was stretched out in his lounge chair when she appeared, familiar mix of amusement and exasperation on her face.

'I was with a patient.' She stepped inside, letting the door close behind her as she fished his cell phone from her pocket and held it out to him.

'Better than a dog whistle,' he commented, sitting forward to take it. Settling back, he folded his hands over his stomach and closed his eyes. Then opened one of the them a few seconds later, watching as she pulled one of his visitors chairs around and took a seat. He closed it again. 'What.'

'Are you all right?' she asked quietly.

'The poor cripple survived that harrowing ordeal, just like the more able-bodied among us. It's a miracle.'

'I was just asking.' It was more simple reminder than reproach, she was too used to him for that.

His hand searched and found the head of his cane, propped against the side of the chair and he let it rest there, gripping the smooth wood. He was getting the feeling he might need an escape strategy soon. She was far too quiet over there.

'Do you want me to be in love with you?' came after a long moment.

There were few downsides to being right all the time. This was one of them.

He didn't say anything, and there was a weary sigh before her voice came again, 'It's the wrong question, you know. It shouldn't be 'am I in love with you'. It should be 'do I want to be in love with you'. I shouldn't be sitting here thinking about how wrong we are for each other. How we're never going to last.'

He opened his eyes. Her body language was relaxed, elbow propped on the back of the chair, head in her hand, while the other hand rubbed up and down a little on her belly, a soothing gesture he doubted she was even aware of.

'You kept telling yourself you didn't want a baby, either, just because you didn't get to dictate the terms.' His hand left the cane and rubbed over his face. 'I could've sworn you held me captive in a confined space and made me have this conversation already.'

'You asked the question. Not exactly jumping in with any declarations yourself, I notice.' He shrugged, and her eyebrows lifted in response. 'I knew you when you were with Stacy, remember. You were so... open with her, never held anything back, as far as I could see. Which means either she ruined you for other women, or you just,' she gave a shrug of her own, 'Aren't in love with me. Because if you were, you'd say so.'

'First time's the hardest.'

She let out a soft snort of amusement. 'Tell me about it.'

'I love...' he said, drawing it out, 'That thing you're doing with your hair these days. Looks _fab_.'

Her mouth twisted in wry amusement. 'I love,' she replied, 'That even when you're being a complete bastard, you can still make me laugh.'

'I love that you're sitting there thinking about jumping my bones, even though I'm being a complete bastard.'

'I love that you're sitting there, hoping I will.'

'I love how you've deluded yourself into thinking I'm a willing participant in your hormone-fuelled sexcapades, instead of a hapless victim terrified to turn you down in case you roll over on me in my sleep.'

'I love how you're just as attracted to me as ever, yet feel the need to cover that up by calling me fat _every five minutes_.'

He smirked and said mockingly, 'I love that we can _talk_ like this.'

She smirked back. 'I love that you're going to let me have the last word.'

He thought about throwing 'delusional' at her again, but she was sitting there smiling at him and he subsided, saying 'Sure, if it makes you feel better,' with an added eye roll instead.

The smile softened just a touch. 'Thank you,' she said with a level of sincerity that made him reassess what she was thanking him for.

He closed his eyes again, estimating they had approximately three more minutes before one or all of his team came in the door brandishing test results and invading this little cone of silence. There was a strange kind of intimacy at play here and she was right, it was nothing like what he'd had with Stacy. Unlike her, though, he couldn't see that as anything but a good thing.


	34. TGIF

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Rating: teen friendly  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

A/N: Posting two chapters together, because they're both ready and I always feel bad for always making you guys wait for updates!

Thank you so much to everyone who's still reading! Cuddy moves along into her third trimester with this part, and it may not seem like it, because this story has been dragging on forever, but I can actually see the end from here! (If you call having another twenty chapters to go 'seeing the end'... :-))

xxxxx

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR - TGIF

xxxxx

'Well it's a nice way to spend a Friday night,' she was saying, pausing to sip from her glass of sparkling mineral water and lime, 'I suppose I need to enjoy my evenings out while I still can.'

'Never underestimate the value of a decent babysitter,' a woman to her left replied. 'Worth their weight in gold.'

'Well if you happen to find one,' another said, 'For god's sake give me her number. Lisa, I could tell you some horror stories -'

There were nods from all around the small circle and she forced a smile, knowing she was about to be bombarded with tales of babysitting terror for the next foreseeable future.

Just then, however, her cell phone trilled discretely from inside her purse, set to low but still audible in this subdued setting. Smiling apologetically, she moved to a corner, taking it out to check who was calling. Then, once she saw who it was, she took herself and the phone out of the main room, down the hall, past the kitchen, to the back of the house and into what seemed to be a laundry room before finally answering.

'House,' she began, looking around furtively to make sure no one had come after her.

'Hello,' he replied amiably, 'How are you?'

_Oh god_, she thought. 'Just fine. Where are you?'

'Where do you think I am?'

'Oh god,' she said it out loud this time. 'I knew you'd do this, that's why I didn't tell you.'

'Tell me what?'

'I'm hanging up.'

'How's the party?' he said as she took the phone away from her ear.

She sighed, and brought her hand back up. 'It's fine. I know you have no interest in socialising with these people, but believe it or not, I do, so -'

'Still would have been nice to have been invited - no one likes to feel unwanted.'

'Are you - _here_? Lurking in the bushes outside the window? Are you going to make a scene - just tell me now so I can brace myself.'

'You know, the boob-to-belly ratio is even more obscene than usual in that dress. Maybe I will pop in - I hope there are some of those crab puffs left after you finished scarfing them down.'

For a moment she panicked, looking frantically towards the window, convinced she would find him there, waving gleefully. Then she remembered he was an ass - just not that much of an ass. 'I guess the cleavage was a safe bet.'

'Only slightly better odds than the occurrence of crab puffs at a cocktail party, and the likelihood of you eating them all,' he agreed.

'Just promise me you're at home.'

'I promise. I didn't call to bug you, I called to rescue you. I'm sitting here on my couch with popcorn and hot cocoa. Mint-chocolate-chip in the freezer...'

'That sounds pretty good,' she said, wondering if he could hear the smile in her voice. 'But I can't leave yet, I've only been here an hour.'

'So lie, say you're all tuckered out. No one keeps a mom-to-be out past curfew.'

'Just how bored are you? Some of us have a life and are out enjoying it.'

'Finger food's that good, huh?'

'Plus I got hit on. You know Stan Wentworth?'

'Rich old hypochondriac, always trying to corner me at all those functions you make me go to?'

She could have laughed at the idea of 'all those functions', which in reality amounted to approximately one a year if she was lucky. But instead she said, 'He wasn't interested in my medical opinion when he cornered me outside the bathroom and propositioned me.'

'But you're six months pregnant. Doesn't he know that's gross?'

'Apparently not.'

'And what did you say?'

'That I only had time for a quickie, what do you think?'

'I think I have a sudden, inexplicable urge to come over there and make a scene.'

'Don't even think about it. You've convinced me, Mohammad's coming to the mountain, all right? Just... give me a little while to get out of here.'

'Of the two of us in this metaphor, which one of us is the mountain, again?'

She hung up with a laugh, and at the thought of returning to the party, immediately felt a little guilty at having enjoyed that short phone call more than an entire hour spent in the company of supposed friends and respected colleagues.

Slipping the phone back into her purse she prepared to go out and start making her excuses - while avoiding rich old hypochondriacs at all cost.

xxxxx

He let her in at her quiet knock, helping her out of her coat, making noises over her dress.

'No wonder the old guy decided to risk heart failure.'

'This dress got a lot of compliments,' she told him, as she stood one hand on the closed front door and levered off her shoes.

'That would be because your boobs are -' he gestured in their general direction, 'Not well contained?'

She took a step towards him, smoothing her hands down her hips. 'Do you like it at all?'

'I definitely like how you take a simple concept like 'if you've got it, flaunt it', and just take it to a whole new level of shamelessness.'

'I'll take that as a yes.' Stretching up, she pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 'I'm going to go change.'

'I didn't say you should _change_,' he said after her.

He liked the dress. She smiled to herself as she made her way down the hall to the bedroom, struck, not for the first time, by how easy this was. Not even two months since she'd let him have his way, and it wasn't what she had expected.

He was good at this in so many ways she wouldn't have guessed - how he had assimilated her into his life with such an easy acceptance, as if for him there was no divide between thought and practice. And there was something more to it, now, since they'd come to a vague agreement, talking around the fact rather then to the point, that there was more to this thing between them than convenience.

It was strange - new and surprising, safe and familiar all at once. Strange, she thought, as she reached behind her back to lower the zipper on her dress.

House had a vast reserve of never-worn pyjama tops, she'd discovered, stashed away in the bottom of his dresser, and she retrieved one of them now, leaving her dress draped over the end of the bed and buttoning herself into warm flannel. Made to fit House's broad, lanky frame, it managed to accommodate her middle, and easily fell past the tops of her thighs. She added a pair of his socks and gathered up the throw from the bottom of the bed, and was settled in a corner of the sofa when he emerged from the kitchen. With a mug in each hand and a bowl pinned between arm and chest, he limped carefully over to deposit everything on the coffee table.

'Don't say I never do anything for you.'

'I never say that,' she protested reproachfully as he lowered himself down at the other end of the couch.

He passed her the bowl of popcorn. 'You think it.'

'Let me have the remote for once, and maybe I'll work on that.'

'Yeah, that's going to happen,' he assured her, reaching over to grab a handful of popcorn with one hand, while keeping the remote safe in the other.

She rolled her eyes as she settled into the yielding leather, not exactly surprised. _Baby steps_, she thought, blowing carefully on her cocoa.

xxxxx

One week later, she was the one calling him.

'Yes?'

'Hey,' she said, undaunted by his unenthusiastic greeting, 'I'm just working on getting out of here, where are you?'

'Where any self-respecting individual in possession of a life is on a Friday night.'

She paused in the act of stuffing files into her bag. 'Bar or strip club?'

'Conveniently, many strip clubs actually have bars in them these days.'

'Forget I asked.'

'Hey, don't blame me, Wilson needed a wingman.'

She could hear a faint protest in the background, above the general din of a crowded room. 'Well,' she said, 'I was thinking of having an early night...'

'So, screw Wilson, is what you're saying.'

'It's up to you.' She reached over to switch off her desk lamp. 'I wouldn't want to ruin a good time.'

'Am I too drunk for whatever sordid sexual shenanigans Cuddy has in store for me?' He was clearly not addressing her with that one. 'I think I'm good to go.'

'Let me talk to Wilson,' she told him, not so convinced.

'Almost like she doesn't trust me or something,' she heard, and then Wilson's voice came down the line.

'He was the one who dragged me here - I'm the designated driver.'

'So I'm not breaking up boy's night?'

'You're welcome to him.'

'Uh-huh, and is he drunk? I don't want him if he's drunk.'

'He should be fine, if he stops now. Cuddy says stop drinking.'

'She's not the boss of me!' House contributed loudly, as if he was leaning over to shout right into the phone.

'He should be fine,' Wilson said lightly.

She rolled her eyes as she reached for her coat. 'All right, tell me where, and I'll come take him off your hands.'

xxxxx

He wasn't drunk, but he clearly had a nice buzz going, she saw, as he slid into the passenger seat with more fluidity than she would expect from him at the tail end of a long week.

'Wilson leave already?'

'Still in there, met a pair of very charming, very drunk young ladies - he's going for a twofer. Speaking of charming ladies - maybe it's my beer goggles talking but has anyone ever told you, you bear a striking resemblance to Heidi Klum?'

Fairly certain that Heidi Klum was a six foot tall, blonde supermodel, she said, 'Those are some beer goggles.'

'I'm digging it.'

She could tell, his arm stretched between their seats, his fingers playing in her hair as they pulled away from the curb.

At the first set of traffic lights they came to, his hand curved around her neck and pulled her over towards him. He tasted of beer and whiskey, strong and heady after so many months sobriety, and he kissed her so slowly and thoroughly she had to concentrate just to keep her foot from slipping off the brake pedal.

It was the blaring of a horn behind them that forced her away from him, to find a green light waiting for her, and an annoyed motorist in her rear-view mirror.

House sat back with a satisfied smirk, and she knew it was impossible to get drunk off a kiss - outside of bad romance novels, perhaps - but she was flushed and laughing as she hit the gas. The sooner they got home, the better.

xxxxx

Saturday, and she dozed through the early morning hours, getting up only to use the bathroom and then settle back beside House, who was sleeping off the previous night with great resolve.

When she woke for the final time it was well past nine. There was music playing, she could hear it faint and very close at hand. She was on her side, facing the middle of the bed - and House, who was lying diagonally across the mattress, legs hanging over the side, his face pressed up against her stomach. She blinked down at him for a moment, confused.

'What,' she said, 'The hell are you doing?'

'Shh,' came the response, 'You're screwing up the acoustics.'

Pushing herself up onto an elbow, she could see better, and what she saw was House's iPod. One earphone was in his ear - the ear that wasn't pressed flat to her skin - the other earphone he was holding in place an inch from her belly button.

'That doesn't sound like Mozart,' she commented dryly. Reaching over him for the iPod, she read the screen. 'Magic Carpet Ride?'

'Steppenwolf,' he said. 'Part of any well-rounded education.'

'All we need now is a lava lamp and a couple of joints...' He shifted and she winced, pushing his head away from her. 'If this is going to be a habit, you're going to have to start shaving.' She rubbed where his prickly face had been resting, rolling away from him onto her other side. As if she wasn't itchy enough already.

'Someone needs to show him the finer things in life,' he said from somewhere by her shoulder. 'You'll be stuffing him into a blazer and knee socks, sending him off to preschool for privileged ponces - that's where it starts. They'll suck all the fun out of him.'

'So he'll need a corrupting influence, which is where you come in?'

'Duh,' he said, and settled back against her, chin resting where the curve of her waist had once been, his arm wrapped over her hips. 'This kid has a trust fund, but no name. How does that work exactly?'

'Probably has something to do with not having chosen a name, yet.'

He appeared to think about that for a few seconds. 'How do you feel about Steven?'

'Steven?' She shrugged. 'Actually that's -' She stopped talking abruptly. 'House.'

'Cuddy.'

'We are not naming the baby after your pet rat.'

'Joe it is, then.'

'Or your goldfish.'

He heaved a very heavy, very fake sigh. 'There's a word for people like you - specist.'

'That's not a word.'

'I'll not have you spewing your hate speech with my innocent child present.'

She snorted, shifting her head onto the crook of her arm, trying to get comfortable again. 'Tell you what, how about I name the baby, then if we ever get a goldfish, you can name that.'

'You'll just pick something girlie, like Francis, or James.'

'I suppose you have a more manly name in mind?'

'Brutus? Jim-Bob? I'm still pulling for Joe.' She ignored that. 'Joe is sensible. Short for Joseph, a decent Jewish name if I ever heard one. Your mother will love it.'

'Why do I get the impression you don't care about the name so much as you just want to get your own way?'

'Don't see you coming up with anything.'

She sighed. 'I kind of like Bradley.'

'Girly,' he said in a high-pitched, appropriately girly tone of voice.

'Or Adrian,' she tried, glaring down at the top of his head, which was all she could see of it from this angle. He remained silent. 'Matthew?'

'Sure, means 'God's gift'. You can thank me any time.'

'Okay,' she muttered, 'That one's out.'

'Joe is still our best candidate.'

'You can keep saying it all you want...'

'Would it help if I told you I never actually had a goldfish, named Joe or otherwise?' She raised a sceptical eyebrow as he leaned over her side to look at her. 'Call my mom, ask her - I never had any pets other than the occasional ant farm, we moved around too much.'

'Really,' she said neutrally. He so rarely mentioned his childhood, she didn't know whether he was being serious or not.

'You should let the kid have a dog when he's older. Or a cat, or a llama if that's what he wants. Yes, you'll end up walking it at five am and cleaning out gross food dishes - you should do it anyway.'

She really hated hormones. She couldn't believe she was suddenly blinking back tears in her eyes, sympathy welling up at the slightly wistful tone he was using. Even though she knew he was a manipulative bastard who was probably doing it just to get to her.

'All right,' she said grudgingly, 'Joseph can go on the short list.'

He accepted it as if it was a foregone conclusion. 'Our short list is... short.'

Reaching over to the nightstand she pulled a notepad and pen out from under the clutter of books and files, lotion and kleenex, flipping over the top sheet to write. 'I'm putting Adrian down.'

'Adrian sucks.'

'So does Joseph, but it's on the list, too.' She sighed. 'We need to find something we can agree on.'

He pushed himself up so he was looming over her shoulder and snatched the pen out of her hand. He wrote a third name down. Then added a capital 'J' and a lower case 'r' after it.

She laughed. 'Over my dead body.' Taking the pen back she crossed it out emphatically. 'One of you is more than enough.'

xxxxx

Another week, another Friday evening.

It was one of the slowest times of any week in a hospital - anyone who could possibly escape was gone already - but the diagnostics department was a hive of activity. As she passed the lounge, Cuddy could see Foreman pacing, open file in one hand, coffee cup in the other, while Chase, a marker lodged in his teeth, was staring at the white board which was a mess of words and connecting lines. Cameron was seated, hunched intently over a laptop.

House, she found next door at his desk, brooding over a pile of journals several inches thick, spread out in front of him, one overlapping another.

He didn't look up, just grunted at her. 'What.'

'I'm going home.'

'No wild parties?'

'No sleazy strip clubs?'

'Some of us have actual work to do.'

'I know.' She stepped closer to the desk. 'I just came to say good night.'

'And?' He finally looked up at her. 'I know I heard an 'and' in there. Or was it a 'but'?' He craned his head slightly in an attempt to check out hers.

'_And_,' she said with an exasperated roll of her eyes, 'Don't do anything stupid or crazy that for whatever reason requires my immediate presence in the middle of the night? That sound about right?'

'I never _plan_ on doing any of those things. Somehow they just happen.' His expression was one of baffled innocence.

'My plans for tonight include a long, hot shower and sitting around in my pyjamas for a while - please don't mess that up.'

'Now you're just rubbing it in - I've seen your idea of... pyjamas...' He had trailed off as he spoke and was now staring into the space between them, seeing something she couldn't.

Mere seconds later, he was up and bursting through the connecting door, expounding on his revelation for the benefit of his suddenly rapt audience of three. She smiled, watching him, knowing that someone was going to be saved tonight.

That, or she was going to be getting a phone call.

xxxxx

She had no idea what time it was, just that it was either very late or very early, and someone was moving around in her bedroom. A mysterious intruder who shuffled past the end of the bed, throwing clothes off left and right before lifting the covers and climbing in on the other side.

She didn't know how he could think she had slept through that entrance, but he didn't say anything, just lay there for a moment. Then, in a sudden flurry of movement, rolled over and wrapped himself around her like an octopus.

She only half-muffled the resulting shriek. 'House! You're freezing! And _wet_.'

'It was raining,' he mumbled, his cold face buried in the side of her neck, hair damp against the side of her face. It was nothing compared to the icy hands under her t-shirt, or the feet pressed against her legs.

She struggled to move away but he just held on tighter until she relaxed. Then she tried to reason with him. 'I'm just going to get another blanket for the bed, let me up.'

'Like I'm going to fall for that.'

'If you let me up, you can have my spot.'

He let her up, shifting over into the warmth left by her body the second she moved. She hurried to the hall closet and back in the dark, dropping a towel on his head as she spread the extra blanket out over the bed. He rubbed cursorily at his hair before dropping it to the floor and burrowing deeper under the covers as she made her way round to his side of the bed - his usual side of the bed anyway.

Strange, how she hadn't actually realised they'd worked up to having sides until just now, when they had swapped over and the difference became apparent.

It was too late - or too early, she still hadn't decided - to mark the occasion with more than a fleeting thought, however, allowing House to draw her over against him once more. His hands were still cold as they found their way back up under her shirt, one tucking under her waist, the other resting under her breasts. His nose touched the back of her neck, her hair stirring with his breath. She dozed off.

Until the phone started ringing, what felt like only a split second after closing her eyes.

She grabbed for it blindly, acting on auto-pilot while House stirred behind her. 'Hello?' she rasped out, blinking in the darkness as she tried to wake up fully.

A shape moved past her eyes - House's arm, she realised, as he reached to switch on the lamp, and then she was covering her eyes against the sudden light and at the same time wondering why the caller hadn't said anything yet.

'Hello, this is Dr Cuddy,' she managed more clearly.

'Dr Cuddy?' came a voice uncertainly in her ear.

Slowly, she removed the hand shielding her eyes and looked up at House, who was propped on his side, watching her with interest. Just as slowly, she brought the phone away from her ear and held it out to him. 'It's for you,' she said.

Then she rolled over and pulled the covers over her head.

'Cameron,' House said, far more cheerfully than he had ever greeted _her_ on the phone after being woken in the middle of the night. 'Just wait till you hear the perfectly good explanation for Cuddy answering my phone just now. It involves me being in her bed and - well, that's it, actually.'

xxxxx

'You answered my phone,' came his disembodied voice from somewhere across the room.

She still hadn't emerged, he meanwhile had gotten up and was, she assumed, starting to get dressed.

The bed dipped suddenly right next to her. She warily lowered the covers a few inches, and watched him pull on his socks.

'You know what's fun about this?' he said conversationally, and then answered himself promptly. 'Better question would be, what _isn't_ fun about this.'

'What happened to the Macarena?'

'Wilson has no sense of humour,' came the cryptic response to that as he manoeuvred his feet into his sneakers.

'It sounded just like mine. Did you plan this?'

'That you would mother me over onto the left side of the bed, away from where I left my cell phone, on a night when I knew Cameron would call, and that you would mistake my cell phone for yours, even though it's a different make and opens a completely different way and somehow manage to answer it anyway?' He paused. 'Of course, I am that diabolical, so...'

She frowned suspiciously. Of course it sounded stupid when he said it like that - she still wouldn't put it past him, though, but she let it drop for now. 'It's - god, it's three am, why are you even here?' she demanded. 'Why didn't you just go home?'

'Your place is closer.'

'No it's not.'

'As the crow flies.' She stared at him till he added, 'In opposites land.'

She smiled tightly. 'That's so sweet. And now my entire staff can think so too.'

He rolled his eyes and pushed himself up to stand. 'Nobody cares who you sleep with. I sure don't.'

'I'll just give Dr Chase a call next hormonal swing, then.'

'About time the boy became a man. If anyone could get the job done, it's you,' he said as he swung out of the room, stopping only to lift his cane from the edge of the nightstand.

With a small groan, she turned off the lamp and pulled the covers back over her head. It was too early - definitely too early - to deal with this now. Thank god it was Saturday.


	35. What Happened Next

Title: Three's a Crowd  
Pairing: House/Cuddy  
Rating: teen friendly  
Disclaimer: So not mine.  
Summary: Misery loves company, right?

A/N: I posted two chapters today, so if you see an update and just automatically go to the last chapter posted and start reading - no! Go back one! You won't know what's happening!

xxxxx

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE - What Happened Next

xxxxx

'Okay,' he announced as he entered the diagnostics lounge to find his team waiting for him, 'First thing first - I really wouldn't advise anyone to say anything to anybody about me and Cuddy. And by 'wouldn't advise' I mean 'will happily kill'. Everybody got that? Excellent. Let's move on.'

'You and Cuddy what?' Chase said into the silence that followed.

Cameron rolled her eyes as House swung his attention over to her. 'I didn't tell them.'

He narrowed his eyes. 'Yes you did.'

She shifted. 'Well, I didn't tell Chase.' She turned to him. 'You weren't there.'

'I was,' Foreman said, addressing House as Chase glared at both him and Cameron. 'Just - leave me out of this. As long as you don't get your ass fired, I don't care.'

'But that's exactly the problem. You three start blabbing, who knows what might happen. Cuddy could get canned. Then I'd get canned. Then you'd get canned. Like a shiny, aluminium domino effect.' He shrugged. 'Or I might just resign in protest, Cuddy and I run off to Maui together - you'd still find yourselves out of a job or three.' He made a face and amended, 'Maybe not Maui. Not exactly bikini weather in Cuddy-town these days.'

'So you and Cuddy -' Chase began, finally catching up.

'Ah!' He brought his cane around and pointed it at Chase's nose, which shut him up fast. 'Not saying anything to anybody includes me. Just call me Greg 'Anybody' House. Any more questions?'

The three of them were obediently silent.

Well, Cameron was speaking volumes with the sour look of 'I knew it' on her face but she was saying it without any actual volume, so it worked for him.

'We're all agreed then, talky-talky bad. Now. Why am I here at three in the ungodly morning again?'

xxxxx

The house was empty when he returned mid-morning. Her car had been parked in the driveway, however, and so as he wandered down the hallway, peering into quiet rooms, he assumed she was just out pretending to jog.

Then he reached the bedroom, intending to bunker down for some serious naptime, and found the doors to the patio standing open.

'And here I thought you'd be ruining another perfectly good Saturday with industrious activity,' he said when he was standing over her.

'I'm gardening, can't you tell?' she replied, shielding her eyes to look up at him.

The faded shirt stretched over her belly and the gardening shears close at hand seemed to back her up, but the fact that she was seated at the outdoor table with her feet up, enjoying a patch of late October sun, let her down somewhat.

'Everything needs to be cut back for Winter,' she explained, gesturing to encompass the entire yard.

'You need another... I want to say 'Marinara'.'

'Alfredo, and shut up.'

He dragged the second chair out from under her feet, earning himself a glare as he sat down. 'I took care of Cameron. She's totally on board, what with being our biggest fan and all.'

'She told everyone?'

'Just Foreman. I told Chase, apparently.'

She looked resigned, rather than upset or angry. He let the silence settle between them before saying, 'Are we sneaking around? That's the kind of thing you should probably keep me in the loop on.'

'You know exactly what we've been doing,' she said, shifting awkwardly in her chair. 'I did this already. I stood in front of the damn board and I said, 'he's the father, to hell with anyone who doesn't like it'.'

'That's what you said?'

She quirked a smile. 'So I'm paraphrasing. But why couldn't that have been enough?'

'We're doctors, a woman's reproductive choices are sacrosanct, inviolable - we just plain old don't go there. Who she's getting down with? Oh, we'll totally go _there_.'

'I know, just a bit of wishful thinking.'

'Are you ashamed of me?' he sprung the next question on her without pause.

She opened her mouth, then closed it, and finally admitted, 'Oh, sort of. It's your fault, House - do you know how much of my time is spent apologising for you? Now I'll be apologising for myself. 'Oh, I'm so sorry I'm seeing that crazy person, I'll try not to let it interfere with me stopping him from doing crazy things.' I'm supposed to be impartial.'

'You've never been impartial,' he dismissed the thought for the idiocy it was, and shrugged. 'It's no problem, still plenty of time to settle down with that nice Jewish boy instead. I'll get Wilson on the phone, you two can work something out.'

'Don't act hurt. You want all the perks without changing your ways one iota, even if it would help me out. So you're just going to have to live with me being regularly mortified on your behalf.'

'That's what Wilson's always saying - you really are perfect for each other.'

'Maybe on paper.' She sighed. 'I've dated nice Jewish boys...'

'Anyone you haven't dated?'

Her mouth twisted in wry amusement, and she said, 'You know I could _marry_ Wilson, and nobody would blink an eye? I'm sweating over this because you're you.'

'Doesn't seem fair,' he commented, watching her carefully out of the corner of his eye.

'It's not fair,' she agreed with a slight lift of her shoulders, which was mild as reactions went, but he was willing to wait. He could tell it would weigh on her.

'What do you want to do?' he asked diplomatically.

'I don't know,' she admitted. Her eyes tracked across the garden before finding his. 'What do you want to do?'

'Watch you waddle around the yard like you actually know what you're doing. Failing that, go back to bed before my idiot staff need me to hold their hands again.'

Sliding down a little further in her chair, she closed her eyes and tipped her face up to the sun. 'There isn't going to be any floor show today, sorry.'

'Spoilsport,' he muttered, and took himself back inside.

xxxxx

'You shouldn't sit here,' he hissed a few days later. 'People will think you're my secret girlfriend.'

'The stupid thing is, half of them already think that, anyway.'

'Yes, that is stupid.'

She was smiling as she started in on her large serving of pasta salad - almost as if she agreed with him.

'I'm pretty sure where I sit has very little bearing on the matter. And besides, I've been thinking,' she began in between shovelling, and he waited expectantly, having a fair idea what was coming. Difficult to miss after she'd tracked him down in the cafeteria and purposefully joined him at his table like she was on a search and destroy mission. 'I don't want to sneak around,' she told him, keeping her voice low nonetheless. 'It's... ridiculous, we're adults. I shouldn't have to hide my personal life - no matter how embarrassing you are.'

He shrugged. 'Great, how should we do it - another formal announcement? 'I, Lisa Cuddy, do solemnly swear I am boffing Greg House's brains out on a regular -''

'I'm not making an announcement. These things get around in their own time, I'm just saying we don't have to lie if -'

'Or, we could make out, right now, the whole place will know before the spit settles.'

'Right, I'm going to let you kiss me while you're eating _that_,' she said, giving his Reuben a distasteful look.

'Fine. Me and my sandwich will take care of this in our own way.'

She latched onto his sleeve as if he was about to leap to his feet and start shouting. 'This is not a free licence to publicly humiliate me.'

'Relax, I almost never publicly humiliate the women I sleep with.'

'Almost never?'

'Gotta leave some wiggle room,' he told her, and took another bite of his sandwich.

xxxxx

'Let it never be said that I can't go with the flow.' The team looked up at him expectantly as he entered the room. 'That thing we agreed never to talk about? Changed my mind. Tell whoever you want. Go... gather around a water cooler somewhere, or whatever it is you crazy kids are doing these days. I'm assuming it'll involve your cell phones and spelling words with numbers in the middle of them. Go on, you know you want to.'

He got three blank looks in return.

'Whenever you're ready,' he added.

Chase cleared his throat. 'You mean...'

'Maui?' Foreman filled in mockingly.

'Don't you think we have better things to do than talk about your personal life?' Suddenly Cameron was the one on the receiving end of three near identical looks. 'What?'

House rolled his eyes, and moved over to the door, pulling it open. 'Let's try this. Get out. Don't come back till you've gotten your gossip on.'

'Why? What's so important -'

'Seriously?'

'You've got to be kidding me.'

The protests came one on top of the other but he ignored them, staring all three of them down. Chase was the first to crack - with a simple shrug he rose, collected his coffee cup and wandered out.

'Not like I had lunch yet,' Foreman said with a shake of his head, getting up to follow.

Cameron glared at him from her seat. 'This is stupid.'

'I know. But what's the point of having trained monkeys if you can't get them to fly?'

He let the door swing shut following her disgruntled exit, and made his way back to his office.

Which was where he was, approximately forty-five minutes later, when Wilson appeared in the doorway, looking highly amused.

'What's this I hear about you and a certain Dean of Medicine?' he said.


End file.
